Second Chances
by livingforfomas
Summary: Haunted by his past, Harry Potter leaves in search of a new beginning. Draco Malfoy seeks redemption and finds a broken hero in the process. How do these paths collide and are there really such things as second chances? Complete; written by livingforfomas.
1. Chapter 1

**_Second Chances_**

_Summary__: Harry Potter leaves the Wizarding World a year after the war and is living anonymously amongst Muggles. A delayed wedding between his best friends and a newly reformed Death Eater coax him into returning._

_Much has changed since Harry's been away. And while he seeks to resolve his own demons, Draco is searching for an identity and new beginning._

_How do these answers overlap and are there really such things as second chances?_

_Rated__: M for loads of adult content_

_Proceed with caution; it's a bumpy ride. Thanks for dropping in._

_A very special thanks and rounds of applause to **Sympel**__ for beta(ing) this monster. It's a project and a half and this reader/writer/magician is simply wonderful. _

_User 3970720 (because Fanfiction's funny about links.) _

_Chapter One_

"Dammit," Harry muttered after unsuccessfully jiggling a locked door, waiting impatiently for whoever was currently occupying the restroom and performing a dance done since his first attempts of 'potty training'.

Old habits die hard.

A gurgled flush seemed to intensify his need to urinate and he could almost swear that he was beginning to sweat with the near reality of wetting himself. Sure, he could apparate to another area. But, that always seemed to do strange things to his stomach and he could hardly contain himself as it was, so he waited and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out in frustrated joy as the door opened to reveal a shirtless man with a towel wrapped snugly about his waist.

Harry hadn't a moment to analyse the sight before barging past the man and locking the door behind him. The Man Who Lived relieved himself with an exaggerated sigh and washed his hands, looking to the foggy glass of the mirror in front of him for answers.

_Where am I?_

Harry was somewhere in Muggle London. He remembered a pub, a bit of one-sided flirting, an awkward and sloppy kiss at the door of the dingy apartment he found himself in and quite the uncomfortable crick in his neck to begin the new day. Luckily, that was the _only_ part of him that seemed sore. Harry was beginning to grow rather tired of waking with a damaged arse and pathetic limp. Something about alcohol allowed Harry to be a more than willing bottom.

Sober Harry always resented Drunken Harry for that.

The Hero's emerald eyes dimmed to a far less than exceptional forest green in the mirror's reflection. This was no news to Harry. His eyes seemed to be losing their lustre for quite some time now. He had a right to be tired after everything he'd been through. However, he wasn't allowed to show it in his opinion. He was worshipped for his losses while others weren't as fortunate.

After splashing some cold water onto his face and towel drying with what felt to be a previously used rag, Harry exited the bathroom and turned to close the door behind him—hoping that this gesture would buy him a second longer of silence.

"Good morning," voiced a lounging male body, contorted in an unnatural pose meant to allure instead of repel. Harry all but strangled the nausea rising in his throat.

"G'morning," the brunet managed to mumble. He quickly located his discarded trousers and threw them on without want of a response from the body nearest him.

Harry couldn't be so lucky.

"So, you're leaving?"

Harry huffed in annoyance and nodded. "Yeah, I have some prior engagements. Can't be late. You understand." The last was never meant to be a question, but each partner seemed to misconstrue its nature and courteous cover to the actual proposition of fucking off and minding one's own business.

"Oh," the man finally reasoned and settled uncomfortably on the bed, covering himself with unmade bed sheets. "Well, yeah. Of course. I-I mean, I h-have some other things as well. Just didn't want to be rude is all. Uh, right. Better you left then."

The former Gryffindor finally looked to the man atop the bed and rewarded his stutters with a smile that could rival Gilderoy Lockhart's. The name of his host hadn't engrained itself in Harry's immediate memory, but he reckoned it must have been either a John or a Steve. Something with an 'S.' Possibly a 'T.' Either way, the name was unnecessary information and would have been forgotten within the week.

_A pity_, thought Harry as he stifled a chuckle. _This one is entertaining in the morning_.

Harry hadn't too many to compare though. He hardly stayed until morning if he could help it. The morning after, always depended on the drinks before. Whiskey seemed to have a knack for coaxing him into a later escape while rum provided a level enough head to call a taxi or Ron in a pinch.

The bumbling man was attractive enough, Harry observed quickly—almost exactly his type—pointed features and long limbs that served as a mere decoration to a toned middle and handsome face. His hair was mussed in a similar fashion to Harry's, which was something he disagreed with on anyone other than himself. He preferred a distinct difference of before and after.

Normally shagged-looking hair never provided much of a contrast.

"Couldn't agree more," Harry answered simply. Not bothering to button the shirt he'd draped over his chilled shoulders, "Good luck with your endeavours."

Of course he knew that these plans were part pretence and all bullocks, but Harry understood the importance of dignity. Even in a man who would be walking funny for at least the afternoon, pride over-ruled most rational thought.

"Should I leave you my number or s-something?" the man asked with minimal slippage.

Harry cleared his throat and removed his glasses from his pants pocket, whispering a quick repairing charm after nicking himself on the broken lens. Seeing clearly always helped his rejection. He could see every flaw he was snubbing and justify his actions without that nagging 'what if?'

"Oh, that's quite alright. No phone." The answer was true. As a wizard, what did he need a phone for? An owl was enough to keep contact with those who knew him well. A phone would only be necessary if Harry decidedly found a Muggle worth keeping in touch with. "It was fun. Thanks."

"See you around, Harry," the man conceded. Guilt built a pretty heavy mound for a moment within the Saviour's chest before self-preservation squashed the feeble pile.

This man would be disappointed for a month at the absolute longest. He didn't know Harry. He hadn't the slightest idea as to who Harry was in a world that he couldn't fathom existing. This was the precise reason the Gryffindor continued to dwell in the Muggle world. Here, he was nobody, as anonymous as the next bloke that entered the bar. He'd even taken to simply walking about the different towns just to feel invisible without the cloak. An 'Average Joe.' A face in an endless sea of same. Nothing special. Nothing to gawk over.

_Nothing_.

Somehow, the word seemed to mean more than a title to Harry. He not only exuded nothingness among the Muggles, he felt nothing in both worlds. He was empty, hollow— a mere shell of the excited and determined youth he once was.

It had taken seventeen years to build the Hero that the press wanted to mould. However, it had taken less than a year to lose the false confidence and only another two years to completely implode. Harry wasn't a man. He carried no identity or trace of a being.

Exiting the apartment and ignoring the tiny sobs behind him, Harry closed the heavy metal door and turned to read the number: 312, chipping to an almost illegible state.

Taking the steps to the lobby of the apartment complex, the fleeing man chanced a look at the mailboxes that lined the entrance.

"Three-twelve," he mumbled; finding the number atop the box and noticing the name at the very bottom. "Wade Warsh."

Harry laughed harshly and opened himself to the brisk morning air. Crossing his arms against a sudden chilling breeze, Harry settled his chuckling to muse about the forgotten name, "I wasn't even close."

* * *

><p>The brunet returned to his own flat—later than he would have liked—losing himself again to the luxury of loneliness in one of his favourite parks. It seemed that years of being watched led him to watching others. This entertainment became a routine training in stealth and cunning. Never being found out and never being seen seemed to motivate the wizard until he realized that no one was looking for him. Then, the reassuring thought amounted in a peaceful sensation that tickled Harry's core. He was giddy while watching another's moment so intently without worry. Today's discovery happened to be an older gentleman with a significantly younger girl in tow. She wore her bright blonde hair in pigtails and skipped over abnormally large puddles. Her smile was of a purity that Harry could hardly remember and the genuine look of contentment in the man's face set off a fit of envy in the former Gryffindor.<p>

Still, he watched the pair curiously. Harry wondered if life could be so simple and waited beside himself for something to change. For the man to burst into rage or the girl to throw a tantrum. He waited for anger. He waited for rage.

He waited for_ life _to happen.

Because that's what life inevitably led to: chaos.

Sinking into a chair he hadn't remembered purchasing, Harry breathed slowly through his nose, detecting a possible cold. That was a minor setback in living with Muggles. He'd need to heal slowly. There weren't many Healers to fix him in a timely manner in this world and he would rather not contact _that_ world anyhow.

Harry hadn't spoken to a wizard other than Ron or a witch other than Hermione, in the past three years. He may have died in the war, but he certainly hadn't died in the papers. Harry was in hiding. Alive to those privy to the knowledge and possibly alive to those only able to guess his whereabouts.

Ron and Hermione did a fine job of leading pesky journalists astray. Always making sure to tell as little as possible and keep the hustling noses out of business that wasn't theirs. Of course, they'd always allude to the idea of Harry returning and refused to marry without him at their wedding. But, Harry stood firm and couldn't be budged on the matter. He understood the selfishness of such a stance and sympathized with the couple, owing them his life and then some.

Harry couldn't break though.

Not now, when he'd gained something so precious: the chance to live and begin again.

The pair disagreed with how Harry handled his newfound prize. They hadn't seen Harry's entrance and exit into and out of stranger's lives as a positive. However, the Hero revelled in the opportunity to come and go as he pleased.

Being forced into shoes that never quite fit and being forbidden to remove them almost completely disturbed Harry's freedom of choice. He always opted to leave now that he could. It was a luxury he hadn't been blessed with during the war.

Leaving would have doomed everything he'd loved. What he hadn't known was that a body needn't die in order to be a casualty of the war. Other things could be lost as well.

Like Harry's heart.

This was lost the second after the realisation occurred to him that he'd been the reason for death. If he weren't born, lives may have been saved. His parents, Sirius, Moody, Fred…

Harry shook his head to clear his mind, scraping his scalp with the effort to forget what he'd lost.

Before he was once again consumed by his repression, a tapping interrupted his mourning and he immediately rose to allow the owl entrance into his living room.

With a grateful peck to the spot just below the joint in his thumb, Harry removed a letter from the bird's beak—noting the handwriting to be Hermione Granger's.

He opened the envelope without care, discarding the remnants of the now shredded paper to reveal a short piece of parchment.

_Harry, _

_I'm writing to invite you to an opening. Now, before you decide to throw this note away, please hear me out. It's an opening to an orphanage for Wizards. They're calling it: _Second Chances_. It was inspired by the number of families that suffered the war throughout the years. Please consider attending. It's because of you that this is happening. It's a wonderful cause and the host would be delighted if you could make it. I won't tell you who's making the effort because I believe that it will possibly dissuade you from making an appearance. However, I will promise that I see no reason to decline the invite. I've already had my share of suspicion and Ron is even moderately excited to attend. Contact me as soon as possible. If you'd like, I'll be home tomorrow to talk about it. The event is next week and I'd like the three of us to be there together. _

_Love Always,  
>Hermione<em>

The wizard lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in contemplation. Hermione knew that he was adamant in living this life. This must have struck quite a nerve in the witch to even hope for Harry to return in its wake.

He could, at the very least, hear her out. It would be lovely to see her and Ron after a few months without them as well.

The brunet decided to visit, but the question of his return would have to be answered after his meeting with the ever-incorrigible Hermione Granger—soon to be—Weasley.

* * *

><p>Harry arrived at the Weasley's Burrow on a Thursday afternoon. He was welcomed like a son by—a terribly concerned with his absence—Molly and—an objective yet understanding—Arthur. The engaged couple were already seated as if prepared for an inquisition that Harry was quite aware he deserved. Of course, those matters did not reach the top of Molly's priorities as she bombarded Harry with enough food for an army, deciding that the man was far too thin for her liking.<p>

"If you'd been around for the last few years, I surely could have put some weight on you. I mean, look at Ronald, dear. He's filling out so quickly. He'll be as big as his father in no time." Harry couldn't help but notice the choking provided by Hermione who didn't seem to accept the weight or Mrs Weasley's total care of her fiancé. Sure, the youngest son was the last to leave the nest, but he was certainly no longer a child. He could and would care for himself. Also, if his mother had any say, he'd be caring for little Weasley's as well.

The Hero smiled and muttered apologies with slightly less bite than usual and was eventually able to excuse himself after his fourth helping of apple crisp to the room he had once shared with Ron during their summers.

"Okay, so why the big secret as to the event holder?" Harry asked instantly after a click was heard, signifying the now locked door.

"You must promise me that if you've decided to attend, you'll still appear even after I've told you."

Harry sifted through his hair with his right hand to ponder the statement.

Could he simply return? Of course not. The amount of press would sky rocket.

But, hadn't this been the only place he'd truly felt at home? Wouldn't he need to return out of sheer necessity? Perhaps he could return for a moment. Enough time to attend this gathering and see his best friends wed. He would be the Best Man after all. He could finish his Wizard's life without leaving strings unattached.

"How long would it take for you to pull your wedding together?" Harry asked suddenly.

Ron was first to answer after exchanging confused glances with Hermione. "Five or six months should cover it, right, Herm? What with planning around people and all that organizing bit. Seems doable in that time."

"Start planning soon," the brunet advised, hiding the small layer of smugness in his voice but not his grin. "I'll stay for half a year. Half a year to decide if I want to stay. I'll go to the opening and I'll stay until your wedding. Help you plan. Whatever you need."

Hermione leapt at the man making such a promise and would have kissed him senseless if her future husband weren't present. Harry fought to control the swelling in his chest at how happy this made the dearest people he'd ever known.

"You'll have to tell me the secret," Harry recalled after gaining air in his lungs. Hermione was much stronger than she let on and by the smirk on Ronald's face, he knew as well.

Avoiding eye contact, the witch looked to the red-haired man for assistance. He offered a shrug towards Hermione's requested aid that caused her eyes to roll and she sighed heavily before clearing her throat and gaining enough courage to carry on.

"The centre is created, managed, and funded by Draco Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Draco Malfoy sat with his head between his knees, breathing as deeply as possible without causing himself to become unconscious. Oxygen seemed to have ceased reaching his brain while his nerves were blocking the pathway so effortlessly.

He hadn't left the privacy of his study for an entire morning— going over the events for the evening so meticulously that he could almost envision each individual blink of nearly all three hundred and forty-three guests. This total would only increase, as he assumed some would attend his soiree without warning or invitation.

The blond's left foot began to tap—a nervous habit he'd acquired over the years—resulting in the rhythmic nudging of his head and accidental knock to the eye by his pointed knee.

"Ouch," Draco hissed, sinking slowly into his chair and rubbing the spot just above his eyelid, praying to a God he hadn't remembered believing in that he wouldn't be bruised for the near-future affair.

"You're certain you wish to do this, Draco?" Narcissa Malfoy chimed unexpectedly from the doorway of the former Slytherin's private room. If not for her absurdly strict upbringing, she may not have succeeded in smothering the snicker threatening to penetrate the tense aura created by her son.

"Would you stop laughing, Mother?"

Perhaps she wasn't so well brought up

"Deepest apologies," she promised, walking to her son's side and taking a knee at his feet. "Dear, you don't have to do this. You don't need to prove yourself to anyone."

A reassuring hand halted the incessant tapping of the antagonistic knee.

"I'm not proving myself to anyone," Draco muttered, looking like a child with the small pout decorating his face.

"Then, why do it?"

A perfectly reasonable question. Why? What had the world done for Draco? Why did the ex-Death Eater and son of a convicted deceased Death Eater feel obligated to give back to society? The mark on his arm left a permanent mark on history—a blotch that was unable to be Scourgified.

If it was impossible to redeem himself of his mistakes—

"You can't undo what's been done, sweetheart," Narcissa said softly. Her free hand reached to brush the young adult's hair from his forehead.

"I never said I could."

The now greying blonde nodded and stood enough to become eye level with Draco.

"Don't put yourself through this for the wrong reasons. Don't worry about our name. Let that problem die alongside your father. You have far longer to live and much more to live for."

"Right, what would that be?" Of course Draco already knew the answer.

"You're living for two, or did you forget?" The younger blond resisted only for a moment the smallest of smirks to disrupt his brooding. Narcissa stood at her tallest now and leaned forward to press her lips lightly to Draco's temple. "Your guests will be arriving shortly, love. It would be rude to keep them waiting. Perhaps you should change into something a bit more presentable?"

* * *

><p>"Presentable? Hermione, this is the best I can do! I'm not a bloody poof!" Ron shouted while attempting to tie his bowtie for the sixth time. "No offense, Harry."<p>

Despite his efforts, Harry laughed. "None taken, mate."

The Hero of the Wizarding World had decided that this was the worse idea he'd ever had. Well, it was the worst idea Hermione had ever had and his agreeing was the worst decision he'd ever made. Harry hadn't bothered to invest in any new attire or hair conditioners, swearing that he would only attend under his conditions. These stood at three key points: he could wear what he felt comfortable in, his hair would be washed normally—meaning with water and dried without style—_and_ he could be as much of an arse as he'd like.

So, Harry sat—in completely masked amusement—remaining as miserable as he could muster with the evening's events so near. He hadn't wanted to be intrigued by Hermione's plan. His curiosity always seemed to get the better of him. However, he found himself strangely hypnotized by the series of events taking place. The former Gryffindor-Golden Boy wracked his mind considerably for any amount of sense in the situation.

It had been four years since the end of the war. Three of those years were spent in hiding from magical eyes. The earliest was spent in dodging cameras and hollowed interviews.

While away, the world hadn't stopped. It wasn't as if Harry presumed it would, he simply thought that his world would be as confused as he seemed to be. People were moving on and growing.

_Draco Malfoy_ was trying to do _good_.

While Harry cowered, Draco sought redemption.

This bit of information shook the man to his very core. Whether that was in anger or utter bafflement, he couldn't decide. Regardless of the reason, Harry felt uneasy.

Hermione walked deftly into the room, immediately grabbing hold of the tie around Ronald's neck and tied it into a knot that would impress any boy scout and keeping mind to choke the red-haired man slightly.

After a gagged, 'thank-you,' the witch smiled briefly and as quickly as her light-heartedness began, it ended.

"Harry, are you honestly wearing that?"

"We had an agreement. You weren't to budge me on my choice of outfit."

She huffed in an obvious annoyance whispered something too swift to catch. Harry found himself clothed in a snug midnight black tuxedo that hugged his body too close for his usual comfort. He reached for his hair on instinct and deduced that not even Hermione's magic could penetrate that madness.

The witch scrunched her nose in disapproval and paced to the Man Who Lived, licking her hand and attempting to pat his hair down to a reasonable level.

"Does it ever lie flat?" she chided as if the hair could feel insulted.

"Do you ever keep your word?" Harry mused at her struggle while he straightened his jacket and adjusted his cuffs. "Remind me again why I'm doing this?"

"Your love for Ron and I is most notable. And the fact that you've helped to create such a lovely change in one of your oldest rivals is a close second."

"I haven't changed Malfoy. And I'm sure he's doing this for some positive publicity anyway. Merlin knows he needs it after everything he's done."

Hermione clicked her tongue in disagreement. "If I remember correctly, that same boy kept us from dying after being caught, refused to kill Dumbledore, and is the son of the woman who saved you from dying twice by the same hand. Perhaps you could try to understand that some people weren't in the best positions."

"Try not to sound so high and mighty, love. Harry can change his mind," Ron warned after loosening his tie. "The kid's changed, Harry. Got a taste of reality finally and I doubt he wants his arse in that kind of bind ever again. Learned from his mistakes, Mate."

_Oh, Malfoy is learning too? Isn't he so damn perfect_.

Harry felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. He knew this pain, a pang of jealousy that shouldn't exist. Hostility towards a boy that more than likely wanted nothing but a fresh start.

A Potter wasn't supposed to understand a Malfoy. They never had and they never would.

So, the Saviour ignored the prickle rising to his skin and settled for shrugging in the most defiant manner he could muster.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Good," Hermione beamed. "Shall we go?"

Both wizards nodded and placed their hands together. With her hand on the top, the soon to be Missus Weasley apparated the trio to the gates of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

><p>A reformed Death Eater and host for the evening's festivities spun the knobs of his sink to produce supremely chilled water. Cupping the near freezing liquid in his hands, he bent forward to splash himself into sanity.<p>

He should hardly be so nervous. Draco couldn't remember shaking as hard when he'd gone to meet Dumbledore or even Voldemort. There seemed to be something about altering his entire life that set Draco in a state of panic and insecurity.

"Get a hold of yourself," he chastised his reflection, desperately attempting to mend the hair he'd ruined with water. "You've seen press before."

_When they wanted you dead_.

Draco nearly laughed at the thought. The idea of death comforted the blond in its consistency. However, laughing was out of the question as it may have caused him to dispose of his already lacking nutrients in the form of vomit.

Vomit hardly went with the black leather shoes he was wearing.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he rehearsed. If he could remember his name, the rest would simply tumble out naturally. Momentarily, he forgot precisely what he'd come to the bathroom for. Perhaps it was to rid himself of the pesky paparazzi, perhaps he had one too many strangers congratulating him, perhaps he was dizzy from only having half an apple throughout the entire day—reluctantly eaten because of his mother's incessant nagging.

It may have been neither or. Draco felt a sense of light-headedness that was quickly interrupted by a tap at the door.

"Mister Malfoy," a young man rasped, "You're asked to make your speech."

Draco only nodded; another swell of uneasiness transpiring.

He hadn't thought being called by his father's former title would set his nerves in a frenzy of directions. And yet, here he was, mentally panting with the shame of the past filtering through his person.

The host followed the young man through his own home as if he were a stranger, grateful for his practice at avoiding stares and tuning out the conversation of others, assuming they would forever challenge and presume pretence from the heir to the Malfoy name.

If roles were reversed, he'd very much do the same.

Taking careful precautions as to not stumble onto a podium he'd set himself, Draco organized papers to occupy his mind and give his hands something to do. The crowd grew silent far quicker than the blond anticipated and aside from a rather strange bout of calm in the room, the motion was entirely smooth.

Draco cleared his throat to announce himself. Granted, it wasn't the stunning beginning he was hoping for, but it was an entrance nonetheless.

"Good evening, I'm Draco Malfoy and I welcome you to my home."

The man stood at his full height, his rigid stance could have been mistaken for a supreme air of confidence if Draco wasn't absolutely certain that each of his guests had come fully prepared with Legilimency.

Of course, that was only a rumour he'd created in his own mind.

"If we're all ready, I'll be more than willing to answer any and all questions to my best ability."

A flurry of hands rose and mumbles were heard amongst the near endless sea of faces. Blindly, Draco pointed to a stout man with a hooked nose and oddly shaped comb-over. He hoped that the sweat on his brow wasn't a mirror of his own perspiration.

"Sir, why have you decided to begin this _Second Chances_? Is it a ploy to redeem your family name or do you honestly feel for those that have lost so much in the recent years?"

Of course the question Draco was most reluctant to answer would be asked first. It wasn't as if he had the wrong response, he just hadn't had any exact explanation. His emotions were as diverse as the people before him and each day created a new reason to care.

"Well, I suppose the commercials will say, 'everyone deserves a second chance'. However, it's much more than that. We've all lost something in this war. For some, it was a person of great relation, a friend, or a lover. For some, it was a name, property, or a home. And for most involved, it was innocence." Collecting his breath, Draco glanced quickly about the room and ceased breathing all together at the sight of someone he thought to be an apparition. "W-what was lost isn't comparable in any case. It isn't a contest to see who has suffered the most." _It couldn't be_. "The war brought the best and worst out of us. It made villains of boys and heroes of men. I'm not looking for my own second chance. What's been done will forever be done. All I can ask for is a bit of faith. Faith that I am trying to reward loss with hope."

The vision in front of him hadn't vanished. His eyes either held a superb memory for detail and sustainability for a mental hologram or he was in the presence of someone who—as far as Yesterday was concerned—hadn't existed in this world.

_Harry Potter?_

No sooner did the thought form at the edge of his mind before his newfound audience struck his own glance as well. Draco, heart racing at an alarming speed, suddenly felt claustrophobic in the space closing in on him. Those viridian green eyes piercing through any sort of façade the blond could have concocted. Harry didn't smile or glare. He looked as if he was any other member at the party—like he hadn't disappeared for _years_. Like this wasn't the first time he'd decided to show his face.

At Draco's charity event and not his hanging.

"Why now? Why four years after the war?" another member of the press asked, shaking Draco from his idle wandering.

"Why anything? Should I have been quicker to act? It isn't the when that will change what's done. Nothing will change the past. I'm not interested in looking back—I'm trying to change the future. To prevent something like this from ever happening again." The blond surprised himself with his cool voice whereas, inside, a volcanic eruption was occurring. He could hardly process his words before they tumbled out. Luckily, he was making sentences that seemed to please the entirety of the room.

All but one.

Chancing glances at the Boy Who Lived, he first wondered if anyone else had noticed him. Of course Weasley and Granger were present at his side, possibly creating a shield to the public. Potter stood at the very back, not even as a part of the crowd. His sidekicks were smiling and whispering across the man to each other. And the he Hero simply watched without a shred of emotion to his features.

It was strange to see someone usually so dramatic and unpredictable and passionate stand still and listen.

Questions distracted Draco from himself and Potter. He'd find himself checking to make sure he was not seeing things. But, Potter never left, never moved, never seemed to breathe or react at all. He was lifeless.

"What made you change your mind about the less fortunate, Malfoy? Never knew you to have much of a soft spot in school."

Draco's jaw would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't been staring at his most unexpected guest for the last hour or so.

Again, a silence encompassed the room and time stood still as stone. Hermione Granger scanned the floor quickly, her eyes darting back and forth from Draco to the man beside her. A man who hadn't uttered a word since arrival. Ronald Weasley folded his arms across his chest in challenge to anyone determined enough to move towards his best friend.

The weight of so many eyes fell from Draco so suddenly that he didn't register his lack of response to the question.

In this moment, he was sure of the missing man's presence. He knew without doubt that he wasn't the only person to notice the Saviour of the Wizarding World. But, Harry didn't pay heed to any of the weight Draco once bore. It seemed to the former Death Eater that Potter only observed him. The room may as well have been empty.

His throat feeling dry and his palms sweating, Draco stepped off of the edge of sanity.

"Why, _you_ did, Mister Potter," he responded—keeping full contact to those still startling eyes. His voice was soft, but filled with a firmness of conviction.

The stirred sensation filled the audience and the weight returned. Potter was again lost.

How long had Draco wished for this in school? How long had he wanted to best Potter in any way possible. How long had he waited to be recognised over the perfect Hero?

Draco had imagined he'd feel smug and arrogant. Better. Stronger. Whole. Satisfied.

He felt none of these things.

If anything, the attention was making him anxious.

"A boy without any chance to succeed overcame all odds. I hope to give that opportunity to as many as I can with this organization." The blond smiled uncomfortably. "Thank you for your time. Enjoy the rest of the evening."

Pacing the stairs of the podium to the ground level, Draco was welcomed by applause and gratitude. Congratulations and encouragement.

At the first break, a rather bewildered host took leave, exiting the hall holding his guests and relieving himself of the pressure on the outer terrace.

Few couples stood outside as well, however, when seeing Draco scurried back inside out of respect for his privacy.

The breeze was slightly chilling in the late hour. Somehow, this calmed the man in question and gave him a will to catch hold of the sanity he'd misplaced earlier.

"Malfoy, care to explain that bit of rubbish in there?"

Draco didn't need to turn to know whom the voice belonged to. He turned anyway, though. Wanting to see up close for himself what he hadn't in three years.

"I thought that much was obvious, Potter." Immediately, Draco examined the man. He was dressed far more appropriately than he thought the Saviour capable of. Aside from a bit of height, Gryffindor's most prized pupil hadn't changed in the least. Only a slight change in his eyes existed. From afar, they hadn't seemed different. From so close they were noticeably dim. Not a hint of the fire that Draco'd come to find so terrifying in school. "Held a conference. Answered some questions."

"What was the shit you fed me?"

"I happen to think it was well catered," the blond drawled.

"You know what I mean."

Draco conceded with a concealed smirk. "That was the truth, Potter. I was partly inspired by you."

"You're quite good at lying. But, seven years of hating me could hardly inspire anything."

"You don't need to befriend a person to respect what they've done. If it makes you feel any better, you're still an insufferable prat who can't seem to take a compliment. Most would be thrilled to do so much. But, not the famous Harry Potter. He's far too modest and stubborn for that sort of human reaction." This felt much more natural. For a moment, Potter could have never left. The animosity still burned at devastatingly familiar levels.

The Man Who Lived looked to his feet and smiled, taking a step forward and then another. He was a mere two feet from Draco before he stopped and looked into his host's eyes. The former Slytherin was met by a small glare in the glasses of his once rival. Why he hadn't ridded himself of the hideous frames was beyond his comprehension.

"You're right," Potter stated before stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging. "Perhaps I'm misjudging you." A split second of misunderstanding side-tracked Draco prior to the wand at his throat. "Or perhaps I know you better than those dimwits of the publicity world."

To Draco's surprise, he didn't flinch under the holly. He swallowed his fear and coolly replied. "Strange that you would go through the trouble of proving my innocence and saving my life on countless occasions in order to finish me off now." Feeling bold, or totally idotic, the captive kept on, "I think a small part of you believed in me, _Potter_. You're just angry. For what, I haven't the slightest. But, it's easy to resort to violence when it's something so consistent in our history."

Potter's grip faltered and the pressure on Draco's neck lessened.

"Daddy!" a small voice cried from behind the Man Who Lived. "Daddy! What's the bad man doing to you?"

A girl about waist high on the Saviour released an awesome amount of punches to the legs of Draco's abuser with an intensity only a child could produce.

The wand was quickly placed back into Potter's pocket as the dark haired girl climbed Draco's leg and into his arms.

"Why was he pointing his stick at you?"

The former Gryffindor felt his jaw slack in confusion.

"Honey, it's a wand. We practiced this. A wand."

"Wand," the girl repeated before staring nastily at Potter. "Who is he?"

"Manners, Karina!" Draco chided, allowing a smile to defeat the scowl he was attempting to make. "This is Harry Potter." Bouncing Karina to wake her from staring and silence, "What do you say?"

"Hello, Mister Potter," the child mumbled.

"And?" he continued, drawing out the word.

"Sorry for punching you."

"Good girl," the blond praised after kissing the top of her head and causing her to squirm in a giggle. The smile never diminished on Draco's face.

"Oh, goodness! Karina, what did I tell you about bothering your father?"

Narcissa Malfoy joined the growing group and paused before her son and Harry Potter.

"Mr Potter," she breathed. "Always a pleasure to see you." Holding out her hand, the Hero took it without question and grasped it firmly.

"The pleasure's mine, Missus Malfoy."

The grin on her lips was short lived as her attention fully encompassed Draco.

"Your guests are beginning to leave. Come see them off?" She nodded to the Saviour and shot a warning glare at Karina in prelude to her own exit.

"Coming, Mother," Draco shouted behind her, still holding the gradually tiring child. "Well, Potter," his voice becoming softer with the realization of Karina's nearing sleep, "it's been riveting. Good evening."

"Wait, Malfoy." The green-eyed man stumbled to a close. What had he wanted time to do or say? "I—well, who is she?"

With his free hand, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed into his eyes. A heavy sigh escaped him and he held a bit tighter to Karina.

"This is my daughter, Potter. Karina Grace Malfoy."

Again, the blond tried to return to his party only to be stopped by the same voice.

"I can see that. But, when—who?"

"Potter, I haven't time for questions. As you can see, I'm hosting a bit of a small gathering." Before the raven-haired man could rebut, Draco groaned. "Fine. Come to the centre this Saturday afternoon. We'll discuss whatever is forming in that tiny brain of yours and figure out what exactly you can help with at the shelter."

Potter's eyebrow arched. "I don't remember offering my services."

Draco smirked. "Ever the reluctant hero."

Without another word, the blond headed for a more social area, the little girl in his arms stirring with the sudden rush of noise.

His encounter hadn't comforted him—nor did he expect it to. In fact, his chest was constricting slightly.

Why in the world had Harry Bleeding Heart Potter attended his event? Why was he back at all? Why weren't the journalists at his throat?

But, most importantly: _Why do I care?_

"Daddy," a tiny voice yawned, "was that the 'Harry Potter' Mummy talked about?"

Draco smiled sadly at his daughter's question and patted the child's head. "Yes, sweetheart. That was Harry Potter."

"She didn't say he was mean," Karina huffed, burrowing further into her father's neck.

The man laughed quietly. "He's not mean. We just weren't friends in school is all." _We were enemies trying to kill the other._

"Mummy said he hurt you real bad."

"That was a long time ago." Never had he thought he would be defending Harry Potter. Nor did he think he'd need to. "And Mummy didn't know Potter like I did."

As if appearing by name, Harry Potter was seen out of the corner of Draco's eye. He left his home with Ronald and Hermione in tow. Draco wondered for a moment if Potter would bother visiting the centre at all.

There was always the slim chance that Draco was incorrect in terms of his oldest rival.

"Are you friends now?" Karina asked slowly as sleep overcame her and forced her eyes to sink.

"Not yet," he whispered.

_But, perhaps we could be._


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Saturday arrived far too quickly for a more than suspicious Harry Potter. He was currently staring at a plate of thirty-minute-old eggs. They were cold by now, but he hadn't any intentions on eating them anyway.

"Eat your food, Harry," Missus Weasley reminded with a small hitch in her voice. "I can't imagine what you've been doing with those Muggles to get yourself so thin."

"I can imagine what the little poof's been doing," Ron mumbled, earning a laugh from Harry and two glares from the future and current Missus Weasley. "Oh, like you weren't all thinking it!" he rationalised while waving his hands so dramatically in the air—only stopping his scowling to butter his fourth piece of toast.

"I'm sorry, Missus Weasley. I've just got a bit on my mind. Not all that hungry."

"What could that be, dear?" Molly'd always been one to pry. It was an act learned and practiced over decades of raising children.

"Oh, he's been in a daze since the whole Malfoy thing, right Harry?" Ron contributed again.

"I wouldn't call it a daze. He's just up to something as usual. I'm sure of it. Neither of you ever mentioned him having a daughter. She looked almost school aged. Surely she's been around for you to notice."

"Didn't think it was that important, mate. She only really showed up about a year ago in the papers. Perhaps a bit more recent than that. No one can really get Malfoy to talk about her." Ron shovelled another heaping pile of hash browns into his mouth before muttering something unrecognisable to the human ear.

"We really hadn't known enough to mention her, Harry," Hermione followed. "The papers say that she's five years old and her mother passed away after the war. Draco hasn't told anyone who she was or where the girl's been all this time, but it's his business after all."

"You're calling him 'Draco?'" Harry asked incredulously. "When did that start happening?"

"Since she helped him with the whole charity shite." With a yelp and stern pinch, Ron apologised for his language before beginning again. "You remember her whole 'Save the Elves' phase? Well, turns out it struck a chord in Malfoy. Enough to go to her for advice."

"Still talking about Malfoy?" a voice sounded at the arch of the doorway to the kitchen. "Tell me you have a crush on the ferret, Harry?"

"Can't really call him my type, George."

"What, too straight? Hasn't stopped you before," the twin challenged, sniggering along with the brunet.

"I have no argument," Harry managed between laughs. "Oh, Hermione, lighten up. He's decent looking, but he's no less of a prick. And you have room to talk, Mister Lovegood." He pointed to a freckled man with his hands in the sky for surrender.

"The world has enough Weasley children running around. I feel a tear in the physics of things when another of us is born."

Molly left the room in a huff, concealing her anger with raged cleaning.

"Seriously, though. What are we talking about Malfoy for? I thought we closed that chapter after Bushy Hair over here befriended the twit."

"Harry got to talking to him at his charity event. Invited him over to see the centre this afternoon."

George didn't even attempt masking the grin and chuckle escaping his mouth. "He's back for less than a week and he has a date with a straight father. I knew you were something, Harry. And if killing a Dark Lord doesn't prove that, _this _definitely will."

Harry shrugged as if no response could quell the twin's comedy.

"Glad to see someone's so enthused with my life."

"Oh, as if you weren't highly entertained." George sat across from his practically sister-in-law and winked at her disapproval. "So, Ron updated me on your living arrangements. Believe me, you'll get tired of this place before six months is up."

"That's the latest, George. We'll more than likely have the wedding planned and over with in three or four months, right Herm?"

"Well, we can get it 'over with' as soon as you'd like, Ronald!" Hermione bellowed before making a dramatic exit of her own. Harry was honestly surprised she hadn't 'accidentally' let her ring fall from her left hand and into Ron's temple.

"What did I say?" he could hear Ron yelling in the next room and up the stairs.

"She's feisty lately," Harry observed.

"I think she may be pregnant," George smiled, "Luna's been emotional lately too."

"You're expecting?" the redhead nodded, still holding his widening grin. "George, that's great! Does everyone know?"

"Haven't told a soul. Just found out last month. Hard keeping that kind of information a secret."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"They're supposed to be twins," George whispered solemnly. "I don't know how Mum'll take it. Or Ron."

George, of course, hadn't been the same since Fred's passing. Granted, he's gotten used to not having him around, but any mentioning of his other half seemed to shut the poor man down completely. He had practiced hiding the loss of life, but there was no mistaking the light leaving his eye.

"George," Harry began, rounding the table to put a hand on the now trembling man's shoulder. "Congratulations. If you need anything, you know I'm here."

The Man Who Lived understood wanting to keep business private. Reality hurt a great deal more than a dream. And while few were aware, many things could remain dreamlike. Even a future child. Or _children _for that matter.

"Thanks, scarhead," he smiled and put his own hand on top of Harry's. "Not sure if you're looking to be a God-father to another kid, but I wouldn't mind if you considered."

Harry laughed lightly and smiled gently, "Of course I'll be a God-father again. If I have to do nearly as much work as I have with Teddy, I'm sure I'll be great."

George rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Harry hardly did a damn thing other than send money and letters to the pre-school aged Teddy Lupin-Tonks. Raising the boy had gone to relatives after the war. It was entirely agreed upon that Harry was far too young for the task.

Killing a Dark Lord seemed trivial in comparison to raising another life.

"So, when are you popping by the centre?"

A loud crash was heard outside of the kitchen. Broken glass and possibly a table collapsing.

"Harry! Get your arse out here this minute and restrain this monster!" The voice was Ron's and he was either referring to his mother or fiancé. Either way, an angered Missus Weasley isn't something to trifle with.

"I'll be leaving now. See you in a bit, George."

With a harsh _snap_, Harry was nearly thrown outside of _Second Chances, _his former school rival's shelter.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy was clad in an apron covered in torrents of flour, dead centre of the counter in the kitchens. Rolling out dough for tonight's pizzas was proving to be more labourious than usual. Of course they'd run out of supplies through breakfast and not a soul thought to alert anyone. So, here stood Draco, panting in a way only acceptable for a freelance runner and barking as only a dog should at his staff.<p>

"Could someone please remove the stick up his arse and get moving? We're not about to let the place starve because of you incompetent lot!"

Perhaps Draco hadn't changed all that much since school. His personality was very much the same; he was simply altering his course. In the few days since his shelter had opened to the public, the man had undertaken forty children, twenty-six teenagers, and fourteen adults. His staff consisted of twenty wizards and witches working by both hand and wand. Draco had no problem investing in House Elves, however, his consult—Hermione Granger—would have none of that.

So, he settled for human error, grinning and baring each and every mistake made by others.

In the chaos of it all, he'd hardly had a moment to remember inviting Harry Potter to his now outrageous endeavour. He hadn't a moment to really think of anything other than the set schedule that he'd force himself to grow accustomed to if it was the last thing he ever did.

In ignorance, it only made absolute sense that the sudden uproar in the dining area surprised him. A large crowd was forming near the doors to the centre and Draco could hardly peek through to see what caused the commotion.

"Oh, for the love of all that is magic, please back off of me!" a voice cried from the entryway. A voice Draco immediately recognised.

When the sea parted, the blond was left standing about fifty feet from the exasperated Boy Who Lived, a sarcastic twinkle to his eye and his arms folded across his chest.

"Never could resist a grand entrance, could you, Potter?"

* * *

><p>Harry Potter couldn't have written a less flattering moment for himself. Here he was, drowning in this pool of strangers and hearing his items of clothing being ripped from his body. His glasses were now missing in action and a shoe had disappeared, along with the button to his trousers.<p>

And to make this the _most_ positively radiant moment of his life, Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of his captivity—smirk firmly planted and full of irony. The blond was shaking in fits of laughter that were still unheard through the ruckus.

"Never could resist wearing a dress, eh, ferret?" Harry countered a bit woozily. The attack hadn't worn away. "Could you possibly ask this polite mob to return my things?"

"For one, Potter: this is an apron. Some of the best chefs in the world are men. And two," Malfoy started, taking inventory of Harry's things in the hands of his guests. "I believe they'll be happy to return your belongings, won't you?"

As if the sigh was rehearsed, the room quieted to mumbled complaints. Soon, a pile of familiar bits of personals was collecting at Harry's feet.

"Pull yourself together and I'll meet you in the garden. It's just out the way you came and to the left."

Without any type of explanation, Malfoy turned on his heel and returned to what Harry thought to be the kitchen. Muttering a few repairing spells and sliding his glasses back into place, the Hero swallowed his outrage and left the room, probably his best idea in quite some time.

Turning the left he was instructed to make, Harry was greeted by an unnaturally beautiful sight.

As far as the eye could see were flowers of every kind. Trees as green as Harry could stand, bordered the sides of the colour in-between.

He walked forward into the midst of a patch of pink and white, six-petal decorated flowers. Bending onto one knee, Harry observed the smoothness of the plant and moved a bit closer to smell.

_Pumpkin?_

"They're charmed," someone enlightened behind him. After a slight matter of recognition, Harry knew it to be Malfoy. "They'll smell like whatever your favourite scent happens to be."

"Clever," the brunet stated. "What kind of flowers are these?"

"They're Lilies, Potter. Karina's favourite."

'_Lilies, Potter.' Lily Potter. Mum._

Harry shook his head and tried not to noticeably twitch. A habit he'd learned to quell after the war when his parents were mentioned. Or implied. Or not even mentioned and innocently concocted.

"Snap out of it, oh Chosen One. I need your full attention."

Annoyance could snap Harry out of anything. Even the dark reminiscing of his past.

"Shut up, _prat_," he nearly hissed. "I'm here to discuss helping you, so why don't you show about an ounce of respect. That's about two ounces more than you usually give to people."

"Quick to witty retorts today, aren't we, Potter? That little vacation must've inspired some personality in that overdone hero role you've been playing so perfectly for all those years."

Honestly, what had Harry expected in coming here? A changed Malfoy heir?

_Hardly._

So, picking his jaw up from the floor, Harry took hold of his dignity and readied to leave. He brushed past the blond without as much as a nod goodbye.

"Wait, Potter!" he heard follow. Turning only a fraction, Harry waited. "I apologise. I haven't changed as much as I'm sure Hermione's told you. I'm still very much me; I just can't really get out of the past with you. Haven't had the chance yet." Pausing to breathe, Harry didn't make any move to reply. "Forgive me. I've been thinking a lot about what you could do here and I'd like you to consider a position—if I haven't offended you too greatly."

Perhaps Harry still could be surprised.

"What did you have in mind?"

Malfoy couldn't have looked more dumbfounded if he'd practised the reaction in a mirror for days. Harry assumed the man would think he hadn't changed either.

That was entirely incorrect.

"Well, I w-was hoping," the blond cleared his throat, "wondering really—if well, perhaps you'd be interested in—now, feel free to say, 'no.'"

"_Malfoy,_" Harry interrupted through the babbling he was forcing himself not to find adorable and endearing. He'd settle those thoughts later. "Spit it out. The stuttering is unbecoming." _And oddly __charming._

Another idea he would pulverise later for announcing itself.

The blush rising in the former Slytherin's face hadn't helped the cause.

"I was hoping you'd consider mentoring once a week. Sort of a big brother type deal. You'd council and just be there with the kids once a week. Maybe even the adults here. But, they're a bit harder to help. Very proud as it is."

Harry weighed his options. Could he possibly cooperate with a man he had only ever hated? A man he once had entirely figured out and now couldn't have matched his personality to the face if his life depended on it. What could come from that sort of teamwork? If he didn't slice the git's throat after this afternoon, that would be an accomplished feat.

This was sincere, something he could occupy his time with while he was forced to live in a world he couldn't decide if he wanted to forget.

"Do I need to provide a resume?" he asked lightly. Malfoy smiled in response and shook his head.

"I doubt it'll be necessary. I'll be giving you loads of reading material though."

"What for?"

"It'd probably be best to know about everyone here. Give you a chance to understand as much as you can."

Harry scratched at the back of his head and looked to his feet. "I don't think a piece of paper's going to tell me who they are."

"A name's a start. Some of these kids will lie to you about even that."

_What would you even know about it?_

"I know; who am I to judge? But, it's the honest truth. They're young. You'd know better than anyone how they're feeling."

"It's not as if we all came from the same background, Malfoy. Just because your parent or parents die, it doesn't give you this altered reality where there are thousands like you. People survive differently. People are different." It was almost difficult to control the tremor in his voice. Harry hadn't realized his volume had switched to yelling before the man in front of him put up his hands to settle the obvious change in Harry's mood.

"Sorry," the Man Who Lived tried. An apology felt strange in this direction. "I just hated being boxed into a category and I doubt they like it either."

"See, I don't know these things. I know facts and figures. I can rationalise but hardly sympathise. I don't know where they're coming from."

Again, Harry felt like he was talking to a wall. "You don't have to know where they're coming from," he sighed. "Everyone needs something different."

Malfoy's face scrunched in thought and Harry waited curiously. "What did you need?"

"I'm still figuring that out," the brunet answered honestly.

The former Death Eater wordlessly agreed with a grunt. "You've always been a mystery, Potter."

"You mustn't read too many papers then."

Malfoy smiled humourlessly. "You know as well as I do that those are half-truths. Some don't even do _that_ much justice to the subject."

"I suppose you'd know something about that," Harry replied sarcastically. Still believing most of the 'half-truths' about the blond.

"I know you don't agree, but I do know a bit about lies in the media."

The brunet couldn't respond unless he wanted to go in circles. So, he chose to remain silent until Malfoy decided to continue.

The quiet stretched for too long. Neither man could enter into another conversation without an awkward undertone.

Luckily, the silence didn't need breaking.

"Daddy!" cried the girl Harry had met only a few nights ago. "They're having trouble with dinner. It keeps exploding," she finished before coming to a rest at Malfoy's side.

"Fucking Finnigan," the blond tried to whisper. His daughter caught the cuss word and slapped her father's thigh. "Sorry, sweetheart. Potter, watch her for a minute. I'll be right back." Arriving at the door to the centre, he shot a warning glare at the girl and she scoffed in return.

"How've you been, Katrina?" Harry lamely asked.

"It's Karina. And I'm fine."

_Smooth, Chosen One._

"Do you like the shelter?" he attempted again. No wonder everyone agreed to Harry's absence in Teddy's life.

"I don't like you," she responded bluntly. "I don't think you should work here no matter what Daddy says."

"Well, what does Daddy say?"

"He thinks your some kind of hero or something. You don't even have a cape. And heroes don't hurt people like you hurt Daddy. Mommy told me all about you and what you did to him in school. You tried to kill him. Heroes don't kill people, Mister Potter."

Harry blinked at Karina's words. A mere child picked apart each insecurity he ever had about what he had done. Of course he was a murderer. Perhaps it wasn't his hand, but it was his doing nonetheless.

"You're right, Karina. I'm not a hero. But, I promise I'm not a bad man. Can you try to believe that?"

_Your father seems to be trying._

She didn't respond and Harry supposed that was better than an outright, 'no.'

Not a moment too soon, Malfoy returned—a new load of flour matted into his fine hair and draped over his clothes. Only then did it occur to Harry that the man was dressed so comfortably. He never remembered seeing Malfoy outside of school in anything other than the most expensive garments. He would never imagine seeing the pristine Slytherin covered literally from head to toe in something House Elves usually wore.

The sight perplexed the former Gryffindor and sent his mind reeling.

"Sorry about that. I can't imagine how the pyrotechnically challenged survive." He brushed some of the visible dust off his shoulder and smiled at Karina. "Were you polite?"

Karina looked to Harry for an answer.

"As nice as pie, Malfoy. Almost too sweet, really," the Hero lied. The girl looked strangely grateful, but kept her mouth shut.

"Good girl. Keep an eye on that Seamus for me, will you?" She nodded and skipped towards the door, not expecting to be picked up so suddenly by her father and flipped upside down to have a raspberry blown into her stomach. Her screeching laughter filled Harry's ears to the brim and he felt as though he were intruding on a private slice of time. "Love you, Sweetheart."

"Love you too, Daddy," Karina smiled after running away and blowing Malfoy a kiss at the door.

"You seem to make a great father, Malfoy."

The blond shrugged. "It comes naturally to love a child, let alone your own."

"What happened to her mother?" Harry learned quickly from Karina's direct delivery.

"She passed away," Malfoy pronounced indifferently.

"That's what the papers say, sure."

The blond snorted. "And you don't believe the papers?"

"They never have the full story. But, I'm assuming if there's more to it, I'm the last person you'd want to tell."

"I should have given you more credit in school. You're not nearly as daft as I thought you to be."

Harry shook his head. Malfoy was quite the mystery himself. It was almost like meeting a new person you've heard about from a friend. There's already this idea planted and you're given something entirely opposite.

"Wouldn't have been the same if you had."

"You're right. But, if you would seriously like to help the foundation, I'd be more than happy to accommodate you."

"I've a place to stay, Malfoy," Harry managed. How much did he know about the Saviour's return?

"Hermione tells me you're staying at the Burrow for a few months while they finish wedding details. I assumed that would be hectic, especially with the workload this'll give you. We should probably discuss pay as well. I'm not sure what kind of figures you're looking to make, but I can assure you that it won't be a problem."

"I don't want your money. I have loads of my own."

"Well, I'm in no man's debt, Potter. Name your price," Malfoy challenged, an all too serious glint in his eye.

Harry evaluated his possibilities. What could Malfoy give him if he had no use for his money? He was never one to trade sexual favours, especially to straight fathers and he could hardly tolerate the arse as it was. What could the man trade?

"I want honesty. If I work _with_ you, not _for_ you, I want to know who my partner is."

"No deal," the other man said instantly without any amount of consideration.

"Then, I'll see you around. Good luck with everything."

For the second time, Harry made move to leave again only to be stopped by the same frustrated voice.

"Fine! Potter, I'll do it. But, under my conditions."

"What would those be? No Veritaserum? How would I know if you're telling the truth?"

Malfoy shoved his hands into the pockets of his apron. "I don't mind that. But, if you use it, I get to say when we stop. You'll tell me what you want to ask before giving me the potion. I'll decide what I'm willing to answer and anything you learn stays between us. There are certain skeletons that I'd like to keep buried in my metaphorical closet."

This all seemed reasonable to Harry, and he wouldn't have left these kids in the lone hands of Draco Malfoy anyway. However, the blond couldn't know that lest he want nothing in return for his efforts.

"Sounds fair. Should we shake on it?" Harry held out his hand and waited, clueless to the humour Malfoy found in the situation.

"Deal, then. My staff is paid weekly. Each Thursday. So, you'll be paid weekly as well. Any day that suits you better than others?"

"Thursdays are fine."

Malfoy nodded. "Excellent. In that case, I'll send some files your way later this evening and you can brush up on the guests here. If you'll excuse me, I have to be getting back to the kitchen before Seamus gets in well over his head and we have to order out again."

"How long has Seamus been on board?"

"Since he married Pansy. She may not lift a finger, but Seamus didn't have much of a choice."

_God, I've been away too long._

"I'll see you on Thursday, Potter," Malfoy closed and paced away.

Watching the man enter back into the building, Harry couldn't stop himself from admiring the view.

He'd have to be blind not to notice how attractive Malfoy was. He always had been. Especially when his hair wasn't slicked back with enough gel to possibly tame Harry's mane. His looks hardly justified his attitude then or now, though. But, Harry could always appreciate a fit bloke even if he was a complete prick.

_Well, not a complete prick._

* * *

><p>"So, you're saying that once a week you're going to spend the day at Malfoy's place?"<p>

"It's not really his place, Ronald," Hermione explained, the malice still well embedded into her voice from earlier. "And that's what you've agreed upon, Harry?"

"Yeah, that's the plan," the Man Who Lived said for the fifth time.

"And he's not paying you? What the hell's that about, mate?"

"I don't want or need his money. I'd rather work with him, not for him."

Ron muttered something obscene under his breath and Hermione made sure he knew that she heard him with a rough pinch. "Sorry, 'Mione."

"You're sure you want to do this?" Molly wondered aloud near the stove, pulling out tonight's roast beef. "I don't know how well you two will hit it off."

"Harry could use a bit of a rumble, eh?" George provoked with a sly grin. "I wouldn't worry so much. He can handle himself and a ruddy little Death Eater like Drakey."

"Oh, George! Cut him a break already!" Hermione burst, looking to Ron for support.

"Yeah, George. Come off it. The kid's trying." The younger redhead mouthed an, 'I'm sorry,' and gestured a psycho circle around his ear while subtly pointing at his bride-to-be.

George smiled and raised his hands in mock defeat.

"I'll be fine. It'll give me something to do for a bit."

"Guess you'll get tired of arranging most of the wedding with me," Hermione teased. She still hadn't decided on a maid of honour seeing as her best friends were both men and one happened to be her fiancé.

"I'm sure I'll enjoy every minute of it. Being gay makes me highly valuable in these wedding situations."

The entire room erupted in a fit of laughter. Harry could hardly dress himself let alone a bride. He was a prime example of anti-stereotypes. Despite what people tended to believe, Harry was anything but flamboyant. He was a bloke interested in other blokes. Nothing more and nothing less.

His sexual preference didn't define him.

Taking Harry's hand in hers, Molly smiled. "I think you'll do wonderfully with these kids, Harry." On that note, she kissed the top of his head and returned to dinner, tuning out the remainder of the conversation.

"You will," Hermione concurred. "They need someone like you."

Harry half smiled and glanced at his hands winding into themselves.

_Right, someone like me._

* * *

><p>Draco sat in his study at Malfoy Manor, finishing the profiles of the members in his organisation and readying them for Potter.<p>

There would be an incredible amount of positive press from the Hero's alliance with him. In a lifetime, he never thought he would partner with the great Harry Bloody Potter. But here, life was surprising him again.

His knee began to tap in anxiety as he jotted the final bit of information he needed. When he sent the documents, Draco was obligated to adhere to his end of the bargain.

He'd have to open himself to someone who'd physically opened him before. Someone he'd hurt over and over again both physically and mentally for years.

Life has a funny way of doing that: coming up with the strangest circumstances.

_Thursday at noon, _Draco wrote after shrinking his files for an owl to deliver. Sending her to the Burrow with too many second thoughts, the blond ceased his ridiculous tapping.

_Trust, Draco._


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

"I can hardly believe this is legal."

Hermione was referring to the stack of files she'd gone through in the last hour of restricted information about the guests at _Second Chances_.

"I don't think you're supposed to give out information this easily. I understand he wants you to work with them, but you're not a Healer, Harry. He could get into serious trouble for making you privy to such private matters." The witch reorganised the pile in her hand and continued reading. Apparently, it was only a matter of Harry's legal credibility and not her own.

The wizard hadn't been concerned with whatever Hermione was prattling on about. He was too busy creating a list of questions unknown to any other member of the house. Harry had always seemed to blurt any and all information to his two closest friends and he wasn't entirely sure if even his possible knowledge was public information. Surely, the reformed Death Eater didn't expect Harry not to explain himself. The two were hardly on terms where the Chosen One could do the man favours without anything in return—Hermione would see right through that charade in an instant once she'd committed to the belief of strange activity.

Something churned in the brunet's stomach whilst he decided against exposing his agreement and opted instead to focus on his list. What seemed important enough to ask? What kinds of questions could be open ended enough to receive more than originally warranted?

"_That same boy kept us from dying after being caught, refused to kill Dumbledore, and is the son of the woman who saved you from dying_,"Hermione had reminded him only days ago.

This was at least a start.

These questions gave Harry the proper mentality to defend Malfoy after the war. The sound proof of the remaining pure bloods' innocence kept the mother and son out of prison and away from the same fate as Lucius. Answers to these questions never consciously crossed the Hero's mind. '_Why_' didn't matter. It was strange now, seeing the former Death Eater succeeding. Only now did Harry question his certainty on the motives behind the matter. While in court, the quickly fading memory of the pair with death in their eyes and courage to face it was more than adequate cause for defence. The new effort offered no security and only a catch in Harry's eyes.

Here was the opportunity to gain those reasons that had only recently seemed ill intended. Here was the precise moment that Harry hadn't known himself to be waiting for.

What did he want to hear? What would it mean if Malfoy really had changed?

Why did it _matter?_

"Harry, are you listening to me about this case?" Hermione nagged incessantly. To his utter indifference, the Man Who Lived shrugged. This only served to infuriate the witch who proceeded to toss the manila envelope in his direction, missing his eye by a fraction of an inch and coming into contact with the very edge of his brow. "Serves you right."

Rubbing the probably reddening spot, Harry began to skim through the pages of this particular file.

Death Eaters tortured the sixteen-year-old boy, for months before the war. Some of the accusations of assault included neglect, rape, and physical abuse that left multiple scars along his back and rib cage. Death Eaters wiped his memory of any knowledge from his previous life. He did not have a name of his own. Upon discovery, he was given the name: Felix Oblitus. A picture rested inside, of the boy as he was stepping out of St. Mungo's.

"Looks a bit familiar, doesn't he?"

Harry didn't respond. The picture had aged about four years. Obviously, the boy had as well. He wondered why there wasn't a more recent photo of Felix. Why did they choose _this_ picture? The boy was healed, but he hadn't come close to eliminating the internal scarring.

The Hero couldn't imagine having no memories other than torment. Of course, that was almost a possibility if he hadn't come to the knowledge that he was a wizard. His troubles before Hogwarts centred only on neglect, verbal cruelty, and the occasional over reacted slap. Harry wasn't able to hold a candle to all that this boy had seen, all he'd survived. Sure, he'd seen death and felt it himself. But, death was quick while torture was quite another thing all together.

"I can't quite put my finger on it."

Harry looked closer at the image. The boy had straight dark hair and a pale complexion. Nothing really startled his examining. He was abnormally thin, but that was to be expected. He fidgeted in the photo—no doubt from the attention—his smile was small and absolutely terrified, his nose stuck up in the slightest and was speckled with a dusting of freckles. His eyes were green and his lashes long. If held at wand point, Harry couldn't relate this boy to anyone.

"Let's go out to Diagon Alley," the wizard said suddenly after closing Felix's file. "We can look at wedding things for a bit. I need to walk around." _And purchase some Veritaserum._

Hermione brightened significantly. Her smile could have lit a small city as she practically flew towards her room to change into something other than pyjamas. Harry looked back to his list and proceeded to fold it in half and then in half again.

Tucking the folded parchment into his coat pocket, the former Gryffindor glided to the fireplace and grabbed a bit of floo powder.

A mirror sat upon the mantle and for a split second in time, Harry hardly recognised who was staring back at him. In the blink of an eye, though, there stood the same man with the same expression of weariness staining his once youthful face. At the age of twenty-one, Harry Potter had the worry lines of someone at least twice his age. His skin was paling. Years of finding any excuse to bask in the heat of the sun had dissipated into a shade or two above an anaemic. Bags collected under his noticeably dim eyes, brought on by years of restless sleep or no sleep at all. In four years, the only peaceful sleeps he'd felt came from pure exhaustion. Exhaustion so demanding, so terrifying in its intensity that it leaves the person powerless to unconsciousness.

Harry knew and welcomed that kind of fatigue.

"Ready?"

Shaking himself from reading too far into his own thoughts, he threw the powder into the flames.

* * *

><p>"Hermione, I don't think anyone will give half a damn if the plates match the flower arrangements," Harry huffed exasperatedly. The pair had been in Diagon Alley for nearly two hours and purchased soap, ribbon and a practice broom for Teddy's upcoming birthday. None of which was of any importance to the wedding. That small detail set Harry's nerves on edge. He wasn't one to shop for pleasure and he certainly didn't want to shop aimlessly.<p>

"Well, it's not _just_ the flower arrangements that they'll match." Taking a deep breath, Hermione hid her face from the Saviour's view. Before he had a moment to become curious, she began again. "It'll match my dress too."

"You have a dress? When did you get that?"

"I've had it for a year," she said with her face reddening. "I didn't tell anyone. Ron would have found out if I had."

"Little sneak, you," Harry teased, nudging the girl beside him. "When do I get to see it?"

Hermione seemed shocked in the way her jaw slacked and a few muttered sounds protruded from her lips. "You're sure?"

"What? Is that the Maid of Honour's job or something? Can't the Best Man have a look?"

"Of course you can see it!" the witch nearly screeched, pulling a stumbling Harry Potter behind her to Madam Malkin's to be greeted by a rather stout woman measuring another client. Not a minute passed before that customer was lost to the new guests.

"Mr Potter and Ms Granger! Oh, it has been too long! You look stunning," she praised, waddling over towards the door. "And Mr Potter, you're looking so grown up!" The witch was kind. 'Older' or 'grown-up' seemed to be some kind of code for worn-out and nearly deceased looking. "I think I know what you're here for," Madam Malkin winked after pinching Hermione's cheek with the kind of vigour only known by a woman with a Grandmother's past.

The bride-to-be twitched in the pinch's aftermath and elbowed Harry who could only find humour in the situation.

"Here it is, Darling! Come try it on for the gentleman, yeah?"

Hermione followed dutifully and shot a horrifying glare in Harry's direction, warning him to keep his chuckling to a minimum.

The Man Who Lived had only a moment to inspect his nails for dirt that didn't exist before Hermione returned.

In a word, she was _stunning_.

At the top of her head sat a thin band with diamond-like crystals. The dress began at the shoulders and capped them with a lacy material that frayed in an intricate design. Its body sat straight across her chest, revealing only a small dip in her middle. The same crystals on her headband accented the entire length from chest to floor—the majority of sparkle decorating her chest and slowly trickling into pure white down her left side.

The most spectacular point made by this dress was that it couldn't wear the witch. Hermione _made_ the dress. On the rack, it would have been fabric.

On this, this being his second oldest friend in the world, it was, "Beautiful."

"Really?" Hermione asked bashfully. "It isn't perfect. I mean—I still have the final fittings, but it's okay; it'll do."

"Hermione? Would you do me a favour?" The witch nodded. "Tell that nagging twit telling you otherwise to kindly—pardon my cuss—shut the fuck up. You're perfect."

A blushing smile graced her face and she looked to the owner of the shop for approval.

"He's right, dear. You're a vision. Now, can we get you measured? I've waited a year."

"Won't that take about half a second with magic?" Harry wondered, as if this were one of the few things that Hermione overlooked.

The witch's cheeks darkened even more so. "I want a Muggle wedding. I want the fitting by hand. Like my mother and everyone else in my family." With a pregnant pause, Hermione cleared her throat. "Is that stupid?"

Harry paced to his best friend and took hold of her right hand. Placing his lips over her middle knuckle, he smiled. "I think it's brilliant."

"Thank-you, Harry." Tears collected in Hermione's eyes and threatened to spill over in prelude to an undignified snort from Madam Malkin. She always seemed sappy in times like this. "And on that note, eh?" the witch in white teased—collecting her hand.

"I need to go to the Apothecary. Will you be a minute?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow and Harry explained. "I want some Dreamless Sleep potion." Concern marred the bride's grin and the wizard brushed it away.

"Are you alright? I know you haven't been sleeping well. I've just been busy and you didn't seem too ready to chat recently."

"I'm fine. And I'd like to get some sleep before I talk to the kids tomorrow. So, can I meet you somewhere? The café next door? We'll have some dinner and talk about whatever you'd like."

Half of her mouth pulled up and she nodded once. "I'd like that. Don't get lost."

"I won't," he promised and slipped quietly out the door. It wasn't a far distance from Madam Malkin's. However, while entering the shop, Harry noticed the atmosphere change. Perhaps it was lack of proper lighting, or perhaps it was the lie needed to get here.

"Veritaserum, please," Harry called over the empty counter.

"Ah, Harry Potter!" a voice responded without aid of a face. "It's been years."

_I keep getting that. _"So I've heard. The Veritaserum?"

"In a rush, are we?" A man finally revealed himself from behind Harry, causing his step to falter in the unexpected company. He was at least a foot shorter than Harry, his hair thinning to a single piss-yellow streak across the very edge of his forehead, the clothing he wore was stained with countless colours—perhaps the only colour in the store. Harry distinctly remembered a much sillier place in comparison to this—but surely not everything could have gone back to normal after the war. "You always had time before the war for a chat."

Reeling in an excessive amount of air, Harry worked to control his temper and even his voice before deciding it best to not respond at all. The man seemed to understand this silence and hurried to the back of the shop. Releasing the breath he hadn't recalled holding, Harry held out his hand to the returning man. A vial found its way into his palm and he smirked at the clear liquid.

"Big plans for a little bottle, Mr Potter?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't feel as if it's your business to know."

An ironic chuckle filled the room. "Of course. Three years away can do that to a man's trust, can't it?"

"What would you know?" Harry spat before he could stop himself. A cloud of smoke appeared as the man threw a recent _Prophet _on the dusty countertop. Looking up towards the man, he received an all-knowing grin and was left alone.

Leaving more than necessary for the potion, Harry took the paper and exited the shop quickly.

Standing in the street and flipping through the first few pages, the Saviour settled unto a moving photo of himself poking his wand into Draco Malfoy's neck. Mentally, he slapped himself for having the gall to do such a thing in public.

'**Lions, Charity, and Snakes****—****Oh My!**'the title read right above the repeating picture of his encounter. Reading on:

'_Harry Potter__,__Saviour__ of the Wizarding World, Hero to all, Reason behind our existence and Runaway Man Who Lived is seen __fraternising__ with his once rival and __a__ former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy at the latter's very own charity event! Witnesses were not able to comment much on the Great Harry Potter as he preferred a grand entrance of his own in the very middle of the press conference. Doesn't leave very much time to chat with the old Hero, does it?_

_When appearing, though, not a single member of the news team retreated from __Mr__ Malfoy. __The news team left Harry Potter alone__, as was __evident__ to be his own desires as well._

_That is until he was able to corner our host for the evening._

_The conversation __could not__ be heard, but from the above image, it's fairly obvious that old grudges never really die, do they? Could it be possible that Harry Potter is still grieving? What could this 'damaged' hero have against a man he defended in court?_

_Later this week, several witnesses spotted Potter and Malfoy walking the gardens of Second Chances. Of course, what was said is still left to the reader's imagination. It's clear, though, that a conversation was had._

_Is Potter making up for the death threat only days earlier? Checking in on the heir for a purely social visit? This reporter says, no. 'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,' as the late great Shakespeare may have said._

_Perhaps our hero's changed.'_

Harry folded the paper under his arm and stalked to the café next door to Madam Malkin's to find Hermione waiting with a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with pineapples and what looked to be fried cheese sticks.

_Could've sworn she was lactose intolerant._

"What the bloody fuck is this nonsense and why exactly have you kept it from me?" he growled, throwing the _Prophet _on the table and hardly missing Hermione's glass of steaming something-or-other.

She shook her head, not needing to read the paper to know exactly what he was on about.

"It came out this Sunday. I didn't want you worrying about something so silly as this. You know as well as I do that these stories are utter rubbish."

"But, this one isn't, Hermione! This is real. They haven't said a word that's false."

Harry hadn't sat yet and had taken to crossing his arms heavily across his chest as if to hold himself together.

"So, what's worrying you? Aside from your temper, they haven't a thing to say against you with proof."

The man finally sat and sighed, rubbing his forehead in the spot where his scar had been fading. "I just didn't want the first story about me to be… this." Taking a bite of her cheese stick and offering another to Harry, Hermione listened thoughtfully. "I don't want to be seen as this 'damaged' hero. Do you think I'm damaged?"

"I think you need to work through a few things. But, you'll be okay. I know you; you'll get through it. We're all damaged."

Harry considered that and fiddled with the list and vial in his pocket. "How're you so sure?"

"I know everything," she said as if that was public knowledge and always had been, "Even about the list in your pocket. Care to talk about it?" A challenging smirk settled and she finished the last bit of pineapple in her bowl.

"You're too smart. Know that?" Hermione shrugged. Some things just couldn't be helped. "It's for Malfoy."

"I figured that out on my own after reading it. But," she paused at Harry's shocked look. "Give me credit! You left your coat on the hook while we shopped for save-the-date parchment. Anyway, what are these questions for?"

_What harm could it do? _"I'm trading my services for answers."

"Ah, knew there had to be something else. And he's willing to give them?"

Pulling the vial from his pocket, along with the list, Harry offered the items as explanation.

"That explains the Apothecary. You hate Dreamless Sleep potion. Always gave you a terrible stomach-ache."

"I've only had it four times between first and fourth year." Hermione pointed to her head and that was all the rebuttal Harry needed. "You never miss a thing."

"Why, though?"

"I don't need his money. I don't need anything material. And for some sick reason, I think I'll like knowing that he's entrusting me with these things he's hiding."

"It'd be interesting to sit in your head for a day."

Harry laughed. "Don't you do that already?" Hermione joined in without as much humour. Worry lined the sound. "You're worried about what I'll get myself into."

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt. The truth hurts more than physical pain sometimes. I've gotten to know Draco while he's been forming this and he's different than how I remember. He's kinder. Sincerely kinder—something I don't think he's picked up on. Something I think he's had all along but wasn't able to show. The few times I've seen him with his daughter, he's been exceedingly loving towards her. He'll still knock your block off if he's in the right mood, but there's just cause."

"So, what negative reason could I have for getting to know him? How could I get hurt for understanding this new and improved Draco Malfoy?" His tone dripped with sarcasm.

"It's not _you _who I'm worried about. You're never too keen to reveal too much about your past. No one's forced you to. You can understand that these questions aren't answered because they hurt. They hurt _him_ in some way. Otherwise, why wouldn't he have shared them? Be careful, okay?" A genuine look of concern on her face worried Harry, but he agreed. How could he not?

"Hermione, who are you thinking of making your Maid of Honour?" he asked in hopes of changing the subject.

"I haven't an idea in the least. Maybe Luna?"

"How about Ginny?"

Hermione resituated herself in her seat and coughed to move the cheese stick lodged in her throat. "Are you serious? After what she's done to you? After what she said?"

"Hermione, she had every reason to leave me. I slept with her brother."

"After she cheated on you!" she countered.

"I didn't sleep with her for months! I never even told her I loved her. She cheated on me out of absolute necessity. What did I expect her to do? She fell for a gay man."

"Still, Charlie was a full participant in the act and she didn't have a word against him."

"Well, Charlie hadn't strung her along for years to avoid looking at men. Good thing, too. That would've been entirely strange," Harry reflected with a shudder. "If I can forgive her, you can."

"You were never upset."

"No, I never loved her. If anything, I was disappointed in myself for doing that to her. And to Charlie for that matter. Shouldn't have made him chose between his family and I. Granted, he chose neither and ran away to Romania, but wouldn't you have done the same?" Hermione couldn't repress a small snicker and slapped Harry's arm to regain seriousness. "It's my fault too. I can accept that. You were friends since we started Hogwarts. She had her heart broken. Maybe you can make amends and let her be a part of the family again."

"It would make Ron happy," she reasoned.

"And that's what marriage is about, right? Compromising and trying to make the other happy?"

"Couldn't agree more. Even though she's part of the reason you left. Or at least tried to be a reason for you to leave."

"Let's not talk about it," Harry suggested—shoving another stick into Hermione's open mouth before she could speak again. "Please? Just talk to her. We'll drop it at that."

Waving her hands in surrender, she dismissed the topic completely. "You've seen Karina?"

Harry laughed one loud chuckle and smacked the table. "She absolutely hates me."

"Never been too great with kids, have you?"

"Never claimed to be. Met the girl for the first time with her punching me. Best part is, she already knows about our past. Her mother told her about the whole almost killing him thing and I-."

"Wait, you know about her mother? You've talked to Karina about her mother? Draco's let you?" Another cheese stick would be lodge into the over-excited witch's throat—if there had been one. Instead, Harry placed a hand over Hermione's mouth.

When she finally stopped struggling and settled, the wizard released his hold. "Why does any of that matter? We talked for a bit while Malfoy ran to stop Seamus from burning the place to the ground. By the way, you were going to tell me Seamus married Pansy Parkinson when, exactly?"

Hermione's eyes shifted back and forth from Harry to nothing and back again. "You wondered why we knew nothing about her. She's seen, but never really heard. I've seen Draco with her, sure. But, I've never heard her or talked directly to her. He's very careful to not let her speak to anyone in particular. Not let anyone speak to her. I worked with him for months and I said 'hello' once to the girl. It's just odd that he's trusted you to speak to her. No offense, but if he's trying to hide those skeletons, you're the last person she should be getting close to, don't you think?"

"Can't imagine her doing anything like that. I think she'd like to see me dead. She wouldn't be the first in her family to want that."

_Possibly the least likely person, aside from Malfoy himself, to join my fan club._

Hermione raised her glass in agreement and took a large gulp of whatever liquid sat in the container.

"Hermione, are you pregnant?" She spit out that gulp almost entirely. What didn't stain Harry's shirt choked the witch into two minutes of red-faced coughing.

"What-." _Cough._ "Would," _Cough. "_Make you think that?"

"Your mood swings. The fact that you're eating fried cheese sticks and pineapple ice cream when I'm fairly sure that you're lactose intolerant. George thinks you're acting like Luna."

"He told you?"

"He told _you?_" Harry asked, feeling the guilt of exposing the secret fall away with her prior knowledge.

"Wanted to know if I was pregnant also. I'm not—as far as I know."

"Thank-you. I assumed I'd be the Godfather and I can't add another to my list. Teddy and two of George's will be more than enough to handle for now," Harry confessed, feigning relief.

"So sure it'd be you, eh?"

The Man Who Lived, laughed. "What other friends do either of you have?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and vanished the plates in front of her. "Point made."

"Let's get home. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. I can feel the need for a drink already."

"Promise you won't go drink with Draco," Hermione cautioned with an eyebrow lifted.

Harry sincerely gasped. "I'm not so much of a man-whore as to sleep with a single straight father. As attractive as he is, I'm not going to throw myself to the sharks for the arrogant prick I knew in school. Oh, and he likes women. If that kid's proof enough."

With a secret smile, the witch winked. "Good."

* * *

><p>"Like I already said four times, Robards! I'm not starving anyone here!" Draco cried only just stopping himself from beating the old corded phone into his skull. "No," the Malfoy heir hissed through clenched teeth, "we're not poisoning anything. I know," he conceded, "I know. It's protocol. It's just," Draco sneezed and the mucus soaked receiver immediately disgusted him. "No. I'm fine. Touch of cold is all. Will that be all? Right. Tomorrow at noon for a visit. See you then, Robards."<p>

Writing the note in his agenda, Draco rubbed both hands over his cheeks and into his hair, interlocking his fingers behind his head and breathing as deeply as he could ever remember breathing. His eyes were still swollen slightly from the sneeze and everything felt congested and stuffed with thick slimy goop the blond thought he'd left behind him along with prepubescent childhood.

_Oh, Dear Merlin's fucking sock shit. Fuck! _Draco thought and voiced with an unintelligible groan that grew in volume to a bark.

"Bad timing?" someone called from the door. The blond averted his eyes in that direction and was met with the greens of Harry Potter.

Before he could answer, a sneeze interrupted his thought and a slight coughing fit followed quickly afterwards.

"Just letting you know I was here. I already talked to your assistant. She showed me to my office. Told me to just get to know the centre and that kids may stop and go as they please. Appointments aren't needed and the office is only there for official purposes. I don't need to be cooped up all day if I don't wish it. So, I'll leave you to carry on, then."

The newest member to his team turned on his heel to leave and glanced over his shoulder, "Don't worry about the Auror team, Malfoy. They're not so bad. And when they get a big head, which Robards will be the least likely to, tell him to 'piss off.' They like a bit of a temper. Makes them think you're standing for something." With those parting words, Potter left the room and the scene was utterly quiet in his wake.

Draco sat down in his chair and tallied the chores he'd need to go through today. There were nine hours before bedtime and the blond couldn't decide if he'd survive. Of course, it was far too much to handle. Everyone was right. The job was simply too big for one person. He should have accepted Hermione's shared help when she offered. He had to be proud, though. What good would come from allowing fear to stop his cause?

Resting his head on the desk in front of him, Draco sighed and drifted in and out of consciousness. With his terrible luck, he caught the flu that Karina had been passing.

With no one to disturb his silence, the former Slytherin finally fell asleep.

* * *

><p>A pool of drool welcomed Draco back to reality. The darkness of an ending day accompanied the liquid. With a large yawn, the blond glanced at the clock against the wall and observed 8:47 flashing in angry red. Darting from his seat and sprinting down hallway after hallway, he heard nothing. No chaos, no tantrums, nothing.<p>

It was only on the third floor, the children's floor, that he heard a muttering of some kind and a joined laughter. Pausing in front of the door housing the noise, Draco placed his ear to the wood and listened. However, he needed to crack the door just a bit to hear clearly.

"And he did just that," Harry Potter bellowed, "turned Draco Malfoy into a little ferret no bigger than your arm, Vince."

The room exploded into a fit of giggles, even his daughter Karina joined in. Still keeping weary of Potter, but contributing nonetheless.

"Speak of the devil," Potter proclaimed, pointing at Draco. "Say, 'hello,' kids."

A sea of greetings was sounded and the blond waved in response.

"Alright, guys. Bedtime. I'll be back next week with a whole new line of stories." Sheer disappointment lined every face of every child. "I promise! Now, lights out or I'll turn each of you into a ferret!" Without another peep, every tiny foot found its way to bed and under his or her covers.

"A word, Potter?" Draco whispered, beckoning Karina to follow. Closing the door behind the three, Draco bent to eye level with his daughter. "Sorry I wasn't here all day, Sweetheart."

"That's okay, Daddy. Harry took care of the house while you took a nap. He said you were very tired and no one should bother you because you get so crabby when you're sleepy." The girl looked to the brunet and tried not to smile, still maintaining a stern attitude. She gave her father a kiss on the cheek and broadly grinned. "I'm feeling better. Harry made soup and tea. I'm sorry I got you sick."

Draco was lost to wordless blinking and hugged his daughter tightly against him. "Not your fault, Honey. Go up to Grandma's, all right? She'll take you home to sleep."

"Good night, Daddy. Love you!" Karina said with a tightening hold before releasing herself and walking to Potter. Holding out her hand for the man to shake, the brunet smiled and accepted her offer. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Karina. I'll see you next week."

Karina skipped out of sight leaving Draco to the likely hero, Harry Potter, with his hands shoved idly into his pockets and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"I'll wager you took care of the entire house while I was unconscious?" The other man nodded once. "And we're all surprised. Thank you, Potter. You didn't have to do all of this extra work."

"Come with me," the brunet commanded gently, cocking his head to the stairs. On the ground floor, Potter led Draco to the kitchens. "Sit for a second."

In an instant, a hot bowl of soup sat in front of him along with what looked to be green tea. Potter handed the confused host a spoon and gestured for him to eat.

"Blow on it," the man warned before tidying up the space. "And I know you're analysing every single pore on my face, but trust me. I'm also not too keen about poisoning food or harming anyone in such a manner. Just eat and we can talk afterwards."

The blond studied each syllable, just as Potter knew he would and resolved to eat the soup he now knew to be chicken noodle. Of course it wasn't condensed. Harry Potter _would _know how to make it from scratch. And it would _have _to be delicious. Draco only wished that his taste were a bit more precise. Upon finishing half of the steaming bowl, however, he found that his senses were peaking exponentially.

_Saving lives, one distraught Death Eater at a time._

Laughing quietly to himself and shaking his head, Draco finished his soup and searched to find a perplexed former Gryffindor with his brow furrowed, hand drying a plate from dinner, he supposed.

"Something funny?" Potter wondered, taking the dirtied dish and tossing it into the soapy water behind him.

"You're just so predictable."

"I prefer dependable," the brunet offered. "You needed the rest. I'm not a total idiot when it comes to running a house. Or leading a few kids for that matter."

"I remember most bitterly," Draco teased and took a sip of his tea. "Green chamomile?"

"Figured you'd need the extra help with sleep after that coma you took earlier."

_How considerate._

Potter went back to the sink and scrubbed at a particularly engraved stain. Draco watched with obscure interest as the man completed the mundane task so slowly and mechanically. _Sink rinse dry shelf. Sink rinse dry shelf. Sink rinse scrub sink rinse dry shelf._

The chore went on for twenty minutes before Draco convinced himself to stop staring holes into Potter's back.

"Wondered when you'd stop watching. Like little daggers, you know? Prickles on the back of my neck and all that." He continued with his routine, though. Not turning to look at the blond who couldn't be surprised of the man's sixth sense if he tried. "You can watch all you want. Just, don't stare so hard. It's strange, but I can feel the difference. Makes me anxious the way you're looking at me."

"And how would that be?"

"How about you tell me? It's hostile. No need to be. Like I said, I have no interest in hurting anyone. If it's the whole, I-can-do-this-myself bit—spare me the sob story. It's a lot to handle, and if I could change one thing about how I acted during the war, I wouldn't have refused help when it was offered and would have been more grateful for the help that was forced on me."

Draco couldn't find an argument. "Thank-you."

Potter smiled with every single tooth gleaming. "You're welcome, Malfoy."

"Should we get to the questioning? Veritaserum usually knocks me out anyway."

"If you're up for it."

The blond put his thumb in the air signalling his enthusiastic readiness. Potter took the liberty to drop only half of the bottle into the cooling tea. "The bottle gives you an hour. I do not intend to keep you that long. You look like shit."

"And you're charming beyond belief, Potter," Draco said before finishing off his cup. The warming sensation in his face led him to the conclusion that he was under the potion's power. "Ah, I forgot to ask what you'd be asking."

Potter searched his pockets and handed Draco a crumpled list. Reading the questions once over, the blond gave the list back and made for the brunet to proceed.

"Why didn't you kill Dumbledore?"

"Straight to the point, aren't we?" Draco commented. "I couldn't kill him. I'm not a killer, Potter. I didn't want to follow the Dark Lord any more than you wanted to. But, I'm from a different family. I had other responsibilities. Uncle Severus killed Dumbledore for me. He was a good man. No matter what you believe."

"I know he was good. He killed Dumbledore because Dumbledore asked him to. Did you know that? He was dying. Snape tried to save him and bought him a year. He would have died either way. The hand that killed him wouldn't have mattered."

Draco fought to maintain composure. "I didn't know that."

"There's a lot about Snape that people don't know. Anyway, why didn't you reveal us to your aunt in your Manor during the war?"

"I hated myself at the time," Draco blurted. "I couldn't do a damn thing in that house and I hated myself for it. I felt weak. And then, you showed up—captured and completely ruined in the face. Hermione's plan, I'm sure. But, it was a physical need to help you. I couldn't live with myself knowing that I could have ended the fight for the wrong side. My father knew who you were. We all knew. I think fear kept most of us from saying anything, but for me, well, it was different."

"Thank-you for that. I'm not sure if I could've died, but it certainly would have made things more difficult if I had."

Draco couldn't comprehend this explanation. So he decided to let the matter subside. The heat was dying down in his face and by the looks of the man in front of him; he knew the potion was wearing away as well.

"Malfoy, this isn't on the list, but I don't think you can answer about your Mum's actions and it isn't too personal. Trust me?" _I don't have a choice. _"Do you love Karina?"

"Absolutely."

"Did you love her mother?"

_Oh, damn it all. _"No, Potter. I hardly knew her."

The last of the potion fizzled from Draco's system and he sighed with weariness. "Time's up."

"So it is. I'll suppose I'll see you next week?"

The Hero walked to the doors of the kitchen and reached the knob before, "Wait, Potter."

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"You said you knew a bit about Severus."

Potter complied. "I did."

"Would you be willing to share that with me? He was like a father to me, you see. I wouldn't mind knowing more about him."

With a sad smile, Potter shrugged. "Sure. Sunday afternoon? There's a café next to Madam Malkin's. Excellent ice cream as far as Hermione's pallet is concerned."

"I think I can make it. Not afraid of making the papers again, I take it?"

"You read the article, then?"

Draco's returning smirk hadn't the malice it usually held while in Potter's direction. "Can't believe all of it, eh?"

"S'pose not." Ducking his head, Potter looked to be concealing something. "See you Sunday. One o'clock."

"Mind if I bring Karina? She seems to be taking an ironic sort of liking to you."

Again, Potter kept his head down. "Of course." And with that, the Man Who Lived exited. Draco felt an odd sensation while thinking about his Sunday plans. A cross between a tickle in his stomach and a constriction in his chest.

_Probably the cold._

* * *

><p>After apparating back to the Burrow, Harry slammed the door behind him as if someone were chasing him home.<p>

Perhaps it was the innocence in Draco's face while he-

_Draco?_

"Oh fuckity shit fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, an all-familiar sensation in his stomach and chest.

_Just bloody wonderful._


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

"What, gained a bit of weight baby brother?" George teased from behind Ron as he failed tremendously at buttoning the buttons of his trousers. "Could've sworn that size fit you _before_ you got engaged."

"Shut your bloody mouth before I make it bloody," Ron cursed before giving up on the pants and opting for another size instead of paying extra for the magical alterations.

"You hardly make a lick of sense. You know that, right? If my mouth's already bloody, how could _you _make it bloody?" George separated his arms as if to say _how can you argue with this? _Ron clenched his fists at his side, noticeably shaken from the conversation.

"Oh, let him alone, George. The wedding's stressing him out as it is."

"Thank-_you_, Harry," Ron emphasized, buttoning the cuffs on his wrists and sighing in desperate relief as the new pants fit just snugly enough. "But, you shouldn't have brought the attention on yourself, mate."

"What do you mean?"

George's grin became absolutely feral. "I've been plotting all morning for you. What could I possibly say to the Great Chosen One about his Sunday afternoon endeavours? Where can I start?"

Harry looked to Ron for any resemblance of aid. The younger Weasley pretended to find a speck of something on his shirt collar that needed his upmost attention, his face becoming as deep a red as his hair.

"Traitor! What did I tell you about telling George?" the brunet only then stopped himself from screaming in public. To quell his rising rage, Harry threw his fist into the nearest wall of Madam Malkin's. The physical pain in his hand served as a distraction to his mind, thus keeping his magic intact.

His magic seemingly had catastrophic tendencies when angered.

"Oh, settle down, hero. I used an Extendable Ear and cornered Ron about it later. It's hardly his fault. Can you blame him for not wanting a Bogey hex that lasted until the wedding?"

_Breath, Harry. You didn't tell Ron anything important._

Tending to his now swelling wrist, Harry straightened to take the abuse head on. "Go ahead, _Weasley_. Lay it on me."

"With pleasure, _Potter_." Standing up to the mirror Ron had stepped down from; George took a crack at tying his own tie. "I've never been good at this. Mum did it since we were old enough to wear them, and when we got to school Fred—" The pause was evident and highlighted by tucking the wrong piece of silk into the skewed tie and knotting a finger into his mess. "Um, Fred tied it for me. Now, Luna does the work."

"George, are you—"

"I'm fine, Ron. Fine. Just give me a second. Malkin's over there somewhere. I'll just have her tie it." The living twin left the pair with his eyes to the ground, rubbing them a bit and stifling a sniffle to just a hint of a sound.

"He's been worse about Fred lately. I'm worried," Ron confessed. Harry handed him a jacket to pull on overtop of his now speck-free shirt. "Thanks. And, sorry about George. You know I wouldn't have said a thing if he wasn't serious about ruining my wedding."

"It's fine, Ron. Honestly. And George'll be okay. You know he always bounces back. We all miss Fred. It's okay to show it every now and then."

"That's the thing. He doesn't show it enough. He closes up almost instantly. This is the first I've seen him break in maybe a year. Mom'll go into torrential downpour mode once a week. But, St. Mungo's said that was healthy."

Harry decided not to comment more on the subject and opted for finding his own suit and tie. For all he knew, Ron was fishing for information Hermione hadn't told him about Luna. The witch was far too clever to fall for that, but Harry wasn't nearly as cunning.

_Funny, not nearly as clever as Hermione and _I_ was the one almost sorted into Slytherin._

_She'd _have been clever enough to hide a Sunday afternoon ice cream social with Draco Malfoy; that's for sure. In the last few nights, Harry spent a good portion of his time racking his brain for any and all reasons for his psychotic slip up, or 'mind fuck' as he'd been taken to calling it. He hadn't verbalised any of this to Ron or Hermione, though Hermione had looked smug upon hearing the news. She always did see too much. Luckily, she normally let time do its part and had a knack for allowing a man to keep his pride.

In all honesty, though, Harry didn't know if he was dangling his pride over a shark tank or not. He didn't know what he was feeling. Sure, his stomach began to knot over thoughts about the blond, but that happened when he was repulsed by a person as well. Sure, he was attracted to Dra-_Malfoy_, but that meant just as little. Harry couldn't count the number of fit blokes he'd seen trying on tuxedoes since they'd entered the shop. Something about a suit always made a man look handsome, no matter what he looked like at home.

_Draco did __look__ rather charming at home._

Harry jerked his head quickly to rid himself of the thought. He'd been doing that too often lately. The whole 'day dreaming' about Malfoy routine was becoming tiresome and pointless. Even if he resolved to attempt courting the man, he wouldn't be available to Harry, another man.

_He did say he didn't love the mother of his child…_

As if that mattered! Harry could nearly bet his entire Gringotts account that his aunt and uncle didn't love each other and _they_ made a child. Granted, they put everything into their little Dudders, but it was still proof that a man and woman could work even without loving the other.

_Since when did love even become a factor?_

This was one idea that every piece of Harry could agree with: He was absolutely _not_ in love with Draco Malfoy. In truth, the brunet didn't know if he could feel love for anyone in that way. Ginny had been his last relationship and he hated thinking about the lost time. Cho hardly counted.

His affair with Charlie, however…

That was another relationship entirely. The older Weasley had been proudly out for three years before Harry had come onto him after Fred's funeral for Merlin's sake. Of course, he'd been quite drunk and hardly remembered the encounter at all until the following morning where he'd woken snuggled up closely against a much harder body with less curve and more hair. The shock was enough to have him pass out. However, the pain and awkward walking for the remainder of the day served as a quiet nagging from his developing personality.

After that debacle, Harry decided he was gay. Even the literal pain in his arse seemed far more pleasant than shacking up with the youngest Weasley. _Any woman for that matter_.

It wasn't love that drove Harry into Charlie's arms though. The Weasley brother was an experiment in some aspects. Alcohol coaxed the brunet to try and curiosity had him stay.

"Charlie's coming to the wedding. Did I tell you that, Harry?" Ron said suddenly. If asked in second year, the similar thought pattern would have terrified Harry into believing that Ron could perform Legilimency. Now, after years of sharing a brain, he was hardly surprised.

"You hadn't. How's he been?"

The redhead grunted. "I think he's alright? Didn't get to say much. You're okay with that, yeah? He came in this morning to see Mum. Not sure how long he's staying. Possibly through to after the whole ordeal."

"Ron, Charlie and I are absolutely fine." _At least on this end._ The pair hadn't exactly been able to work it out after Ginny had found them. "Besides, it's your wedding. I'd put up with Voldemort if you put him on the guest list."

Ron smiled. "How about Malfoy? Before you get your panties in a bunch, Hermione insisted. Wasn't sure how you'd like mixing work with your personal life."

Harry shrugged and felt a heat rise in his cheeks. Enough to make him look away from his oldest friend, just in case his skin tone had visibly changed.

"Fine with me. I'm sure we won't attack each other." Only after the assumption left his mouth did it sound utterly strange indeed. Malfoy and Potter _not _at each other's throats? What sort of place was this world coming to?

"Not with fists," George had chimed in, fully recovered from his slip—his tie all in order. "Well, I suppose groping involves fists, so I stand corrected as usual."

"George, could you knock it off? Nothing is going on between Malfoy and I. We're being civil and that's the absolute extent of our relationship. We're not even friends." The haughty smirk still hadn't left George's lips. Harry groaned, slapping his face and dragging his palm over his cheek. "Fine, I give up."

"Smart man," Ron mumbled.

"Oh, now where's the fun in that? I've prepared all morning and you're going to sully my hard work because you've finally wised up?" Not knowing exactly how to respond again, Harry remained silent. "Good lad, now you think he kisses on the first date? That's usually a hussy, or so I hear."

"George, there's the smallest glitch in your torment. Malfoy _isn't_ gay."

"Bullocks. The guy's as straight as wet noodle."

Harry rolled his eyes, determination settling in his stomach like a boulder. He didn't want an outburst and he knew George—knew his game. Knew that giving in was the same as staying in. Knew that it was best to quit but more respectable to play.

"Have you ever seen him with a bloke?" the Saviour challenged, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his hip forward.

"Ever seen him with a woman?"

"Of course I have!" Harry began. "I mean-."

Honestly, the brunet couldn't remember a single girl that Malfoy had even talked to during Hogwarts aside from Pansy Parkinson and she was currently married to Seamus. The mother to his child hadn't meant much to the young philanthropist—at least as far as love.

_How far can that go anyway? Love._

"I don't remember him being with a girl," Harry conceded. "But, that doesn't make him gay. Loads of men go their whole lives as bachelors."

"A single man from an incredibly rich pure blood family is unheard of, Harry. You don't know much about the culture of pure bloods, but they live to breed more pure bloods. Most of those families have arranged marriages from birth. Last I heard, at least through Hogwarts, he was tied to Astoria Greengrass. That sort of took a back seat to that kid of his. But, Astoria seems to have run off with Blaise Zabini. Malfoy was the best man at that wedding for Merlin's sake."

"How do you know so much about this, George?"

The answer must've been utterly obvious because the twin laughed wholeheartedly. "My father-in-law is editor of a successful paper, Boy Wonder. Or did you forget? I know just about everything about everyone. Makes blackmail loads easier."

"And Mr Lovegood readily presents you with all the facts? The Quibbler? The load of rubbish that only printed the truth when Harry was involved? George, the guy's taking the piss out of you. You know that? Thick in the head is what you are."

_Finally, _Harry thought while Ron joined his side of the court. The referee shite was becoming tiresome.

"What would you know, Brother? You don't read it and he's gotten much more respectable since the war. Think it over, Harry. The man may be a bit flighty still, but he isn't ignorant in the least. Pretty insightful man."

"It doesn't matter what Lovegood's dug up anyway. I'm not, nor will I ever be, dating Draco Malfoy. He's not my type."

This time, both Weasley brothers shared a laugh. George explained, "Single, rich and _Witch Weekly's_ most eligible bachelor—trumping even _you_ lately. You're right. Not a match at all. Hardly even a challenge for the ruddy Boy Who Lived."

"Who says I like a challenge?" No one answered and Harry understood the silence. "Okay, so I'm intrigued by a chase, but I don't do relationships. Charlie hardly counts and Ginny crashed and burned."

"Let me know when you bed the poor kid, alright? No details, just a date will do."

* * *

><p>"Karina, darling. We're only going to meet Potter for ice cream. Why are you taking so long?" Draco complained behind his daughter's closed door. He'd been pacing for nearly an hour outside of the room, not sure of the reason behind his anxiety.<p>

"I want to look nice!" Karina shouted from the other side. "We never go out and I just want to look pretty for Har—I just wanna look pretty!"

The blond smiled beside himself, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. His daughter's near slip was all too endearing, so much so, that the thought of Potter as the first person she's taken to almost fluttered completely from his mind.

_Almost_.

The door slowly opened to reveal a timid girl with braided pigtails and a baby blue dress that came to her ankles. Pure white dress shoes and socks decorated her feet and she looked up to the man before her for his judgment.

_She looks so much like her mother_.

"Well?" Karina asked impatiently.

"I think Potter will love it. What do you say, Sweetheart? Got yourself a little crush?"

The girl stuck her tongue out in response. "I do not! Boys are yucky and Mr Potter is super yucky."

"You're right," Draco agreed and bent to kiss his daughter on the top of her head. "Mr Potter is quite yucky indeed."

"So, why are you off to see him, Draco?" Narcissa wondered from behind the pair. She always seemed to have a knack for coming out of nowhere. "Surely you wouldn't see someone in public if you thought them 'yucky.'"

"Are you insinuating something, Mother?"

"Of course not, love. Just do be a bit more careful about what you let others see." The eldest Malfoy let her brow rise in an all-knowing way.

"If you're referring to the paper, I've read it and not a shred was against me."

"People will think things—what with Potter's _condition_."

This had Draco in stitches. "_That's _what you're worried about? Out of everything that could potentially come out, you're worried that people may think I'm—"

"Shh!" Narcissa hushed quickly after placing a hand over the man's mouth. "Not in front of my granddaughter." The warning was a signed death warrant—promising a slow and painful demise.

"But, honestly, why does this worry you? You've never once let a letter on one of their pages bother you before now. What happened to not caring about the post and not having to prove myself to anyone?"

His mother didn't speak. She looked to her feet and intertwined her fingers.

"C'mon, Karina. We're leaving." Taking his daughter's hand, Draco brushed past Narcissa and made for the front entrance of the Manor—knowing he could not Apparate inside the grounds.

"Draco," the eldest beckoned before the pair stepped out.

"Would it matter?" Draco asked, not turning to see his mother's reaction. "Would it matter if I were? Would you treat me any differently? Love me any less?"

A pregnant pause followed, stunning the man.

"Of course not, dear. I will _always _love you."

* * *

><p>After arriving in Diagon Alley, Draco found himself and his daughter to be incredibly early. With a half an hour's worth of time to dispose of, Karina led her father to the sweet shop, Honeydukes.<p>

"Remember you're going to have ice cream later," the blond pronounced before giving in to purchasing at least twenty different candies—his daughter swearing she would share with Grandma later. "Spoiled little brat is what you are."

"Thank-you, Daddy."

"You get _one _piece. Understand? The rest is for at home." _She'll have eaten the whole bag before the afternoon is out._

Leaving the shop, Draco sat on the edge of the curb while Karina nibbled thoughtfully on her treacle tart. He didn't watch the girl head on, only from the corner of his eye. The cloud he'd formed in his mind was dissipating too swiftly for comfort. The likeness between the child and her mother was incredible. Possibly the only trait she hadn't had were her mother's eyes.

Those were Draco's. Grey and limitless.

"What was Grandma talking about you in the paper for? Why's she scared?"

Draco sighed. The girl never missed a stitch. "She doesn't want certain _things _to get out about your father."

"Things about Mum?"

Taking the piece of treat from his daughter's hand and breaking a section off for himself, Draco nodded. "Things about Mum, things about me."

"Are they true? The things they're saying about you?"

"They haven't said anything, Sweetheart," the blond promised, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "They haven't said anything."

"What they _might_ say. Will that be true?"

_Some of it will be. All of it might be._

Who knew what the press would come up with? How much could they honestly know? How _could _they know? Draco could trust Potter.

_The rest of the world's doing it._

And he didn't know anything of value. He _wouldn't _know anything of value if Draco could help it.

"Depends on what they say, Karina." The blond's smile hadn't reached his eyes. "Let's get going to the café, yeah?"

Madam Malkin's was a short walk from Honeydukes. Draco hadn't been through Diagon Alley in months. He couldn't recall _ever _being there on a Sunday afternoon. Not even as a child.

Yet here he was, hand in hand with the most precious child in the world on a Sunday afternoon, readying to meet the famous Harry Potter for ice cream and a chat about his late Godfather.

_When did my life turn into such a punch line?_

Faithful to a fault, the Saviour of the Wizarding World sat outside of the nameless café—cordial as ever—with three bowls of ice cream sitting in front of him. That odd constriction tightened in his chest again and he hoped he was not becoming ill for a second time this week.

"Ah, right on time, Malfoy." Potter stood and held out his hand. The gesture reminded Draco of his childhood, a bittersweet memory of rejection that was entirely necessary. "And Karina too. Might I say that you seem to be the prettiest girl I've seen all day?"

The girl blushed and held out her hand to Potter as well. Draco shook his smile away, earning a bit of confusion from his company.

"You have the vanilla with treacle chips, Karina. And I got chocolate for you, Malfoy. If I remember correctly, that was your favourite in Hogwarts."

"How could you know that?" It wasn't surprise colouring Draco's voice, but his chest tingled again.

"Friends close and enemies closer. All comes from stalking you in sixth year. Learned quite a bit." Draco's stomach dropped along with his vocal capabilities to the ground. "Oh good god, breathe, Draco. I'm fucking with you. Just a good guess is all."

The blond released the breath he'd been holding with a nervous snicker. "We're on first names now?" he asked before taking a seat in front of his bowl.

"Excuse me?"

"You called me 'Draco'." Potter seemed to be going over his speech in his head and shrugged.

"S'pose I did. Well, we're adults now. We can call each other by our first names, can't we?"

Draco assessed the idea carefully before producing his own shrug. "I suppose we can, Harry." The name was foreign on the Slytherin's tongue and he took a spoonful of ice cream to change the taste in his mouth. "So, should we get on with it, then? I'm sure you have much more pressing matters to attend to."

"None actually. Had my tuxedo fitting this morning for the wedding and I'm clear for the rest of the day."

"I meant to say that there are certainly more things you'd rather be doing."

"I can't really think of anything." The look in Harry's eyes seemed different than they had the night they'd met again. Something fresher. Warm. His voice was so sure and light. "So, settle down and eat. We've got all the time in the world. Let your hair down, will you?"

"It is down," Draco managed after feeling his hair. It couldn't be up; he hadn't had enough hair to pull it into anything.

"A Muggle expression. It means: relax. There's no catch. I'll tell you anything you want to know about Severus. Take your time. I'll take my time and for the love of sweet Merlin himself, keep breathing because you're turning blue."

"Just a bit on edge from this morning," Draco confessed, his knee beginning to tap in anxiety.

"Feel like talking about it?" The blond huffed as though he'd never heard a more ridiculous idea. "Sorry. That was stupid of me. Why would two grown men talk about their feelings? How feminine."

"Daddy got into a fight with Grandma," Karina said in between bites, her treat nearly devoured. "Something about the papers."

"Karina!"

The girl dropped her head and mumbled an apology that Draco readily accepted. "It's nothing, Potter." The brunet cleared his throat and the blond allowed an exasperated sigh. "Fine. _Harry_. She worries about your 'condition' as she calls it. Thinks word might spread about the two of us as a possible, well—c-o-u-p-l-e." Draco spelled the last of it—the letters were far too fast for Karina to catch.

"My _condition?_" Harry bellowed in a deep laugh. "What, does she think I'm contagious?"

"It isn't funny, Harry! I've caught three photographers so far. That's in the past twenty minutes."

"Well, if you're so worried about being seen with me, I'll leave. It's no skin off my arse."

"Ugh," Draco groaned, putting his face in his hands. "I just don't need any more to worry about."

"If it's all a plot for their paper, why would it even matter? They print lies for entertainment. You know that." The former Slytherin didn't respond. "Unless your mother is worried for an actual reason." Draco didn't—couldn't make a sound. His heart was hammering a distracting thump in his ear. The question never occurred to him. He'd always been far too preoccupied with absolutely everything to even consider his sexuality. The first and only time he'd been intimate with a woman happened to be with Karina's mother and those were different circumstances. "You don't know, do you?"

The shake was small but visible. "I never thought about it."

"You shouldn't have to."

"Harry?" Someone with red hair sounded from behind the Boy Who Lived. "Ron told me you'd be around." _A Weasley._

"H-hi, Charlie," Harry stuttered embarrassingly. "I knew you were in, but I'd figured you'd be unpacking or being force fed by Molly."

The older man chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. Draco hadn't remembered this one. He'd heard about one of the brothers training dragons, perhaps this was him.

"Oh, shit. Sorry! Have you ever met Draco Malfoy? Draco, this is Charlie, Charlie—Draco. And this is his daughter, Karina."

The two shook hands and Charlie offered the child a smile. She returned a forced smirk—something Draco prided himself in teaching her. "I've heard a bit about you," Charlie admitted. "Nice to meet you finally."

"Likewise," the blond lied. He'd never met a Weasley he'd particularly cared for aside from Fred and George, but they were another breed of human entirely. "Back for the wedding?"

"Yeah, yeah. Are you two—I don't want to barge in on—I mean, I just wanted to stop and catch up with—"

"Relax, Charlie." Harry stopped the blathering idiot. "Draco, Karina and I are just having some ice cream. If you're going to be at the Burrow tonight, we can catch up. I'm sure we'll have a lifetime to talk about."

Weasley stuck his hands into his pockets and looked to the ground, shifting his feet as though he needed to use the restroom. "Y-yeah. Sure, Harry. I'll see you tonight. See you around, Draco." With an exaggerated nod, Charlie disappeared into the crowd of Sunday shoppers. For whatever reason, Draco was oddly relieved and slightly annoyed.

"That was sufficiently uncomfortable," Harry observed with a sigh. "Didn't think seeing him would be so weird."

"Tell me the She-Weasel wasn't your only Weasley conquest." With the lack of response, Draco took the bait. "Potter, have some self-respect! You're the most eligible bachelor in the Wizarding World and you're settling for ginger infestations."

"Second most."

"Excuse me?"

"As far as eligibility goes, I'm second to you." When the silence stretched too long, Harry continued. "Does that surprise you? You're the biggest philanthropist right now, you're single, you're good looking, fit, _and_ have a child you adore. I'd most likely have the spot if I'd procreated."

"Always so modest, Harry?"

"Only when appropriate."

"What happened with Charlie," Draco bluntly asked. "If you don't mind telling me."

Harry collected a breath. "I'll make it painless. After the war, I was technically with Ginny. We hadn't had s-e-x for months." Draco silently thanked the brunet for his appropriate choice of action. "One night, after Fred's funeral—"

"Daddy! I'm bored," Karina whined, pulling on her father's button-up. "Are we going somewhere else soon?"

"Karina, don't be—"

"Why don't you go into the shop behind us? The lady inside will let you try on whatever dress you'd like. Tell her Harry Potter said he'd buy you whatever dress you wanted."

The girl's smile could have lit all of Hogwarts as she pranced into Madam Malkin's.

"You're getting better with kids," Draco surveyed, his heart leaping at Karina's ability to get along with someone other than family. "She's never too warm around people."

"Learned from the best, eh?"

"Absolutely. Now, finish your story."

Resting his elbow on the table, Harry's chin slid into his awaiting hand. "After Fred's funeral, alcohol was a crucial element in the Weasley household. Not a day went by without at least half the house being intoxicated. There was a rather bad night for me—lots of whiskey, lots of rum. I sort of forced myself onto Charlie. He didn't complain. Said he'd wanted to for a long time. But, I hadn't known I was even interested in men until then. Woke up the next morning to Ginny throwing a boot in my face and Charlie running away to Romania. Next morning she was with another man and threatening to report everything if I didn't come out to the public. I would have told them everything if it weren't for Charlie. Didn't want his name in the papers."

"How did you know?" Harry seemed to understand almost empathetically.

"There's not a book about it, Draco. You'll know when you know. It's usually a person that sets it off. For me it was my drunken image of Charlie. I started to feel wrong while being with Ginny, so I stopped being intimate with her."

Of course his curiosity got the better of him, "Was he the last man you've been with?"

"I'm not so proud of that answer."

"Oh, come off it, Mr High and Mighty Saviour."

Lowering his voice, Harry reluctantly complied. "I've sort of seen about thirty or so blokes in the last three years. Muggles can be quite persuasive—or persuaded."

"Holy shit, Potter! Thirty men?" A hand immediately found itself covering Draco's mouth from saying anymore.

"Keep your fucking voice down, Malfoy! I'm telling you this in confidence. I'll let your mouth go once you've settled. Are you settled?" Draco nodded. "Good. And yes, give or take."

"Well, fuck me," the blond uttered—speechless as he could ever remember being.

"If you insist," Harry teased with the quirk of an eyebrow. A cold glare shut him up properly. "Get your panties out of a bunch."

"Get your mind off my panties."

"So, you have some? Queer."

_What in the bloody hell is happening?_

Draco wasn't daft by any stretch of the imagination. Harry was very obviously flirting with him. His entire hero charade disappearing into complete and total charm. And Draco was… letting him?

_Oh fuckity shit fuck._

"Tell me about Severus," the blond abruptly questioned.

For the next hour and a half, Harry conveyed each and every fact and opinion he had of the man. The love he'd always harboured for Lily Potter and the hate for James. The disgusting twist of both that transpired into his ironic love of Harry. His promise to protect the Boy Who Lived. His duty in the war to Draco—to Dumbledore—to Harry. Each new detail revealing another clue to the man Draco had come to admire at a young age, the substitute guidance that wasn't asked for but absolutely needed.

"People really can surprise you."

The blond felt a wetness falling from his cheek and made quick of removing the evidence. "Did you see him die?" he asked, hearing his voice break towards the middle.

"I was with him when he passed. He was a great man, Draco. I imagine if I ever had a son, I would name him after Severus." It looked as though the brunet were trying to reach out to the blond, but fell short. Perhaps unsure of his boundaries of comfort. "He loved my mother with almost every piece of his heart. Part of that was reserved for you too—probably the son he would have wanted if my father hadn't single-handily ruined his life—well, Voldemort too. But, _my dad_ was first." Harry lifted the edge of his mouth only slightly, the tart memory of his past providing just enough happiness to avoid complete depression. The pride he exerted when referring to his late parents was astounding. With no conscious memory of the pair, Harry had every faith in Lily and James.

"I'm glad he wasn't alone."

"I couldn't have won without him. I couldn't have won without you either."

"Don't try to make me into some kind of hero, Potter," Draco scoffed, a harsh stare boring holes into emerald orbs. "I—I was a monster."

"No, you weren't."

The blond, losing his temper, stood too rapidly and flipped the chair beneath him, creating a violent cracking sound that echoed in the nearest alleyway.

"You don't know a fucking thing about what I did in that war," Draco hissed—a camera flashing about two yards away from him. The light brought the overexcited man back to reality and his jaw trembled with genuine fear. "I-I—"

"Don't worry about it," Harry whispered. "I would have reacted the same way."

"One difference, Boy Hero." His tone was much softer. Still he stood rigidly. "You disagree out of this stubborn need for absolute modesty. You disagree because the very thought of perfection seems impossible and unreal. Agreeing with everyone would make you a fallacy. You would cease to exist if you accepted perfection and that terrifies you. I, on the other hand, have done unforgivable things. Things I try to convince myself to be implanted memories engraved to my very core by some sort of terrible dark magic because they can't feel this real if it wasn't something powerful. And then I see it. I see what I've done every day. And the sick part is, I wouldn't change anything. I wouldn't change one disgusting moment of my past."

Draco's hands came to brace himself against the table in front of him. His head bowed until his chin touched down to a heaving chest.

"Daddy! Look at my dress!" Karina shouted as she skipped to her distraught father. "Is Daddy okay, Harry?"

"He just needs a bit of rest, Karina. Did you Apparate here?"

"We flashed here from home," she explained, making a cracking noise with her hands.

"Can you hold my hand so I can take you both home? Your father really isn't well enough to be risking anything."

Karina nodded and took the Saviour's hand as he grasped Draco's before the blond could protest. In less than a moment, Harry Apparated them outside of Malfoy Manor.

"Please go inside, Karina," Draco tried to verbalise with minimum frustration.

"Thank you for the dress and ice cream, Mr Potter."

After making certain that the child was well enough away, Draco stood gaping at the Man Who Lived.

"You're going to swallow a fly that way," Harry warned.

"What the fuck are you trying to pull?"

"Excuse me?"

"Damn-it, Potter," Draco nearly laughed out of sheer hysteria. "Why are you here? You could be anywhere doing anything and you're here. Helping _my_ cause, having ice cream with _my_ daughter, coming to _my _event, taking care of _my _centre when I'm unable. What do you want? Why can't you stop being the fucking hero for once? Why can't you—"

Suddenly, Draco's mouth was rather occupied; the harsh and awkward press of lips to his own lasted for no more than a few seconds in time. The instant ended abruptly enough for Draco to stumble forward after its close, tasting the faint flavour of blood on his tongue from his own cut.

With a noticeable shudder, Harry disappeared.

* * *

><p>The brunet arrived at the Burrow greeted by a full house. His hair stood on end at his recent action and he all but screamed at the otherwise ignorant party.<p>

"How was your date, Harry?" George taunted. "Rail'm good?"

"It was fine."

"How was Karina?" Hermione asked with genuine curiosity.

"She was fine."

"Something happen?" Ron wondered while Harry ran both hands through his hair and ended their journey at the very nape of his neck.

_God-shit-fuck-piss-dumbest thing I could have_—FUCK_!_

"I kissed Draco."

A collective gasp circulated and George convulsed in snorts to break the silence that followed.

"Oh, shut the hell up, Mr Lovegood!" Molly chided. "Harry, wash up for dinner. It's almost ready."


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

_And again, we see two of England's most eligible bachelors sharing quite a scandalous moment in time. Seems as though it's Draco's turn to lash out at our poor Harry. The couple was seen in the company of Karina, Draco's young daughter. The sight of her was something entirely new to this reporter, but as kind-hearted as I am, I could not bring myself to put her picture in the paper. There need be only one child star in this post and Harry Potter still holds seniority over the young Malfoy._

_The girl leaves the two men to a more intimate discussion that seems to have left Draco in tears. __Passers-by__ swear they heard something along the lines of breaking up? Perhaps that was the cause of Draco's rage? A secret relationship between the Boy Who Lived and a former Death Eater? Can that be? Could our young humanitarian also be a homosexual?_

_This reporter thinks that maybe there's more to this bickering than meets the eye. Could Draco possibly be what's kept our Harry away for so long? Could Harry truly be the reason that Draco's trying so desperately to do good?_

_That's for you to decide._

"This, Draco. _This _is what I told you would happen," Narcissa refrained from shouting by clenching her jaw tightly. "Do you ever listen? Have you ever listened? You're not a child any longer, you have a child and you're running around letting this filth be written about you."

The wizard didn't dare chance a look at his mother, he was certain he'd turn to stone if he met her gaze. Instead, he read over the words again, thanking Harry mentally for deciding to let go of the chain he had on his urges _after_ they were well away from the press.

"He was telling me about Severus," Draco tried to justify, remaining shy from his mother. "Mother, you know I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'd take it back if I could." _I think._

Draco couldn't—or wouldn't acknowledge anything after the head-butt. It had to have been an accidental slip and Harry's mouth had simply fallen with the Boy Who Lived, because they're attached to him, onto Draco who was the only available person or object to break their fall.

If anything, the former Slytherin was a hero in the situation and the Gryffindor was an unexpected victim of gravity.

When Draco could honestly convince himself of this, he could truly call himself a wizard.

"You can't take it back." Finally, the man looked to his mother who was pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. For a moment, Draco could almost see Narcissa's hair greying further. "I could have told you about Severus, Draco. I could see you possibly keeping Potter around for the publicity of the centre, but he'd doing more harm than good."

"He's not here for publicity. He's here for the kids, Mother. For the day he spent with them, he was wonderful. All of the kids loved him, they haven't stopped talking about him all week."

"Karina too, if I'm not mistaken, has taken quite a liking to him as well," Narcissa observed haughtily. Her lips pursed in superiority. "He isn't staying here, Draco. What happens when her play-toy leaves? She's only ever had her mother, you, and I_. _Will it be fair to give her a friend and take him away?"

"He's not leaving for quite a while. I'm sure she'll tire of him by then." Draco looked to be convincing himself more so than his mother. The sooner Potter left, the sooner Draco could return to his normal life. His brow creased in thought and he forced the path his mind was heading to divert itself back to now—to the enraged mother in front of him, the incessant tapping of his knee and the centre full of children that would be having lunch soon.

_Was this what normal would be like?_

If the answer to that question was, 'yes,' the wizard wasn't certain whether or not he could survive normal. Every millisecond of time spent in a constant worry of what was to come. At least as a felon, Draco needn't worry about the future. Being the felon promised hatred and suspicion, and there was a comfort in that consistency. Playing the 'hero' was becoming terribly frightening. At any moment, Draco could fail and be even worse off than when he started. Not only would he return to a life of mutual hatred between himself and the world he resided in, he would be knocked back a peg to entirely useless.

_How Harry dealt with this shit, I'll never know._

"And you?" Narcissa asked, "What happens to you when he leaves?"

"What are you getting at, Mother? If you'd like to say something, say it. We're beyond beating around the bush with each other, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," she began, ceasing her pacing and letting her hands fall to her sides. "Draco, are you _with _Potter?"

"I can honestly promise you that Potter and I are _not_ together." The man had such certainty in his voice; one of the few facts that Draco was entirely certain of. "At least not in a romantic sense."

"Would you like to be?"

"Would I like to be romantically involved with Harry?" Narcissa nodded, knowing that Draco had understood the question quite easily the first time. He needed time, but for what?

If the answer is no, then it's simple as that. If the answer is anything other than no, well… that's another mess entirely. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on whom you asked at that particular time, the deafening stillness of his silence answered for him.

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa sighed and closed her eyes, her hand coming to grasp at her chest—looking as if she were trying to draw breath through her torso rather than her mouth or nose. "Draco, you can't."

"Mother, I hadn't said either way!" Draco attempted to defend. "Normally disappointment comes with a wrong answer. I hadn't even blinked!"

"Dear, I read. I watch. I listen. Potter doesn't seem to be the kind to settle."

"Who says I want to settle with him? Will you listen to me?" The wizard stood and nailed his fist into the desk beneath him. Ignoring the stinging pain, he continued with a slight wince. "I'm not even—" _Gay?_

Narcissa smiled and made leave for the door. "Remember, Sweetheart. I'll love you no matter what. Karina too. Always." She closed the door quietly behind her and Draco looked back to the moving picture on his desk. If he weren't so utterly confused, he would have commented on how impressive his chair flip had been. But, these weren't ordinary circumstances and his smugness was fleeting.

_Dammit, Potter is not about to take away my smugness too. I'll die first._

Cupping his face in his slightly trembling hands, Draco exhaled unnecessarily loud and forced his knee to desist its tapping.

* * *

><p>"You're still going today, right, Harry? You can't back down from this even if you've more than likely fucked it up quite royally. You have a duty to those kids. You promised you'd be there and you can't go back on that. They need someone they can rely on."<p>

_Of course she's right. She's always fucking right._

Harry hadn't slept for longer than three hours at a time in the past four nights. He couldn't bring himself to read the paper, any paper other than the Quibbler, which didn't remark on Harry or Draco thanks to George and a future inside interview with the Boy Hero before he left this magical world.

The wizard searched through the top drawer of his dresser for any presentable shirt. If he was going to force himself back into a situation that was entirely uncomfortable, _I'm sure as hell going to look good doing it._

"Hermione, why'd I do this? Why am I even worried? I've done much more impulsive things." Deciding upon a black button up, Harry removed his sleeping shirt and pulled the fresh fabric over his shoulders. "It was only a kiss. Not like I molested him at a bar or something. My tongue even stayed in my mouth!"

"How courteous of you."

Throwing his sullied pyjama top in her face, Harry scowled. "You know what I mean. I could have been much worse."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Oh, shut-up, you. Do you like this shirt?" The wizard opened his arms and turned full circle to find Hermione glowering with her arms folded over her chest. "What?"

"You've quite possibly ruined your reputation—the reputation you only have because no one knows what you've truly been up to since you went away—and you're worried about the shirt you may wear to work."

"Well, if I'm royally fucked as you so eloquently put it, I should look attractive doing so," Harry justified, moving to the middle drawer to locate a pair of trousers. "Denims or slacks?"

Hermione let out a small gasp. Harry turned to find her hand concealing a smile and her eyes alight with inspiration.

"I get it!" she declared. "I understand. Harry, you _like _Draco, don't you?"

"Are you out of your bloody mind? I absolutely do _not _like him. What are we? Twelve?"

"You're blushing, Harry." Only then did Harry register the slight burn in his cheek and immediately looked to the ground. "You actually like him, don't you?"

"Why does it matter?" he wondered emptily, choosing khaki slacks and slipping them over his already bare legs.

"Because you deserve to be happy."

"If you tell me that one more time, I'll strangle you. Don't think I won't do it. I'm Harry Fucking Potter," he cautioned with minimal ire.

"You know he asked about you when I was helping him plan," Hermione grinned, "Loads of times he'd wonder how you were. He was always a smartass about it, but he was genuinely curious. You did save him, after all."

"I know. I saved _everyone. _Everyone puts me on this pedestal that I so rightly deserve to be on because I'm this immaculate wizard that could never do wrong. I know. He's curious because he had the same image that everyone else had. For all they know, I was out saving Muggles for three years. I was ridding the world of yet another Dark Lord that they haven't even heard of yet.

"They don't know that I've literally sat on my ass in hiding from them. They don't know that after I came out I then proceeded to take that newfound freedom and screw any and every decent looking Muggle bloke I could find willing to be with me. I'm not this pristine hero they all make me out to be, Hermione. I'm a fucking disgrace in comparison to real heroes."

The witch's arms circled around Harry's waist from behind and held the wizard tightly, resting her forehead against his back. The man let his eyes close and controlled the breath traveling in and out of his nose. He'd begun to feel his hands shake and took hold of Hermione's to regain himself.

"He knows, Hermione. I told him about the Muggle world. About all the men I've—"

"Stop, please," she mumbled into his back, pulling her fists into his stomach.

"Homophobe," Harry teased after breathing again.

"I just don't like to picture a friend sexually. Makes me feel all icky inside."

"Good to know you feel icky about sleeping with Ron." The man could feel the chuckle against his back and he hoped and wished and prayed that things could be this simple for him. Hoped and wished and prayed that he could love someone as simple as Hermione—a friend—a best friend.

But, when had Harry's life ever been simple?

"What do I do?" he finally conceded, needing his most insightful friend now more than ever.

"You stop being such a little bitch about it and talk to him," George yelled from another room. Before Harry could think it over, he saw an ear disappear beneath the door. "Oh, and wear the denims, they make your arse look 'delicious.' That's what Ginny told Luna once. I've never really cared for your arse, but who am I to judge?"

If Harry hadn't been near tears with the fit of laughter George had put him through, he may have considered hexing the git to next Wednesday.

Most likely not.

"Do they really make my arse look delicious?"

Knocking the now sitting hero over onto the floor, Hermione smiled. "Of course."

* * *

><p>George sauntered into the kitchen to find his mother and father pecking at each other over a half made lunch of turkey sandwiches and roasted vegetables. Rolling his eyes, he took a seat at the counter and winked at the dishevelled couple.<p>

"How's lunch coming along?" he asked, knowing he'd disrupted the intimate time.

"Don't you ever eat at home?" Arthur complained, picking up a sandwich only to have it knocked back onto the plate it came from. "Sorry, dear."

"Playing referee for a little bit around here." _And I can't deal with Luna's mood swings._

"Luna will worry you're leaving her," Molly chided, clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

"That's the last thing on my mind, Mum."

"I left for a few days at a time when you were pregnant with Fred and George, remember Moll?" Arthur thought, his half smile brightening his face at the memory. "The woman was absolutely bonkers with the two of you, George."

"I can only imagine," George said, masking his secret well.

"She's not pregnant, is she?" Arthur taunted, his chuckle bellowing through a thick silence. "Is she pregnant?"

The colour drained completely from the twin's face and his hair seemed to lose its gloss.

"Holy bollocks," Arthur whispered blankly, earning an elbow into his stomach from his befuddled wife.

George could only nod once. He hadn't expected the tackle onto the ground or the extremely overbearing amount of kisses slobbered onto his face by his mother.

"Oh, George! I'm so happy! Why," kiss, "didn't," kiss, "you," kiss, "tell me?"

"I didn't want the attention taken away from Ron and Hermione. They've been waiting for a lifetime to get married." The man had become excellent at lying. "Twins, Mum. We're having twins."

Her eyes widened and her smile became soft. "You'll name one Fred of course?"

"No matter what gender," George promised.

* * *

><p>Harry paced outside of Draco's office having arrived to work around a half of an hour ago. He'd happened upon the centre precisely as lunch was being served and the blond had retired right away to his private quarters. No doubt trying to hide from Harry this Thursday.<p>

Deciding that Draco was well within his rights to ignore him, Harry left to a lower level of the building, coming to a halt in front of Narcissa and Karina.

"Looking for my son, Mr Potter?" Narcissa questioned icily.

"Just wanted to let him know I'm here. Couldn't find him though," he lied. "Hello, Karina."

The girl offered a shy smile and held out her unoccupied hand to Harry who took it firmly in his own and bent to press a small kiss to its back.

"Hi, Harry. Are you here to play with us again?"

"I sure am. You can help if you'd like. Tell the kids I'm here and that they can come talk to me if they'd like. I'll be in the garden. Can you do that for me?"

The young girl nodded and looked to her grandmother for approval. Narcissa made no mind either way. Karina took the sign to do whatever she pleased and ran off towards the staircase. The older woman glared daggers into Harry.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Potter. My son isn't someone you can play around with. I may not have exactly given you life, but I've saved it. That gives me the right to take it away if you harm my Draco. Do you understand how hard he's worked to come this far? Do you have any idea what he's gone through to make this centre a reality? No one believed in him other than his daughter and I, Harry."

"Mrs Malfoy, please, I didn't—"

"Hush," she commanded with one hand. "No one but you. You believed in him enough to stand for him at his trial. You needn't have done that. You could have left him to the justice system." The eldest Malfoy shook her head and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "What I'm saying is, be careful with him. I'm just as territorial as any other mother would be."

"I trust that, but Mrs Malfoy, what exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

"I have a feeling you're interested in my son, Mr Potter. I didn't come this far out of ignorance. I've learned a thing or two about people and you, dear, are most certainly odd but still just the same as any of us in these matters."

"What matters would those be?" Perhaps hearing it aloud would determine Harry's next course of action.

"Why, of the heart," she answered solemnly. "I can't speak for my son, though I often do. He doesn't understand those matters himself. I know you're leaving in a short amount of time, I know you've experimented while you were away." Harry blushed profusely yet still maintained his eye contact. "I know he's confused and frustrated. Things he most certainly does not need at this moment in time."

"How can you be so sure of all this? You don't know me."

"Oh, but I do, Mr Potter. You disappear for three years only to return for my son's party. You defend us in trial. I out of a life debt, he out of something different entirely. He may have saved you in our home all those years ago, but you paid back in full after the Room of Requirement incident. There was more than enough evidence to hold him—for quite some time—possibly enough to send him to the Kiss." Harry opened his mouth to speak only a moment before a hand held itself up to silence him. "You stayed at his bedside more than I had as he recovered from your Sectumsempra. That could have been guilt, absolutely. But, I've known guilt, Mr Potter. I've felt it down to the very fibre of my core for what I put my son through and what you felt was not guilt. What you feel now is not guilt. And I'll warn you, Potter. I'll finish what the Dark Lord could not if you ruin him."

With his vocal abilities paralyzed, Harry opted to gulp and nod once under the heavy gaze of a terrifying mother.

"Glad we understand each other." _She sure doesn't seem glad. _"And Harry," Narcissa called from over her shoulder as she brushed past the boy.

The former Gryffindor rotated towards her voice—still as stiff as she'd left him.

"He is. I was rather okay with the idea of Draco being the last of the Malfoy line. His father may not have been as pleased, but I certainly love him as much as I had the day he became a presence within me. We've known, Harry, for quite some time. Karina is a blessing. Someone we never hoped for." The woman went back to her business without allowing Harry a word of dispute.

How could the old woman know anything? She hadn't stood where Harry stood; she hadn't seen what Harry had seen. Harry stood for the Malfoy family because he knew it to be right. He wouldn't have done so otherwise. Why couldn't everything be as simple as black and white? There didn't need to be this ancient underlying reason for Harry to support Draco.

_Why couldn't the bitch just be grateful?_

Lost within the confines of his thought process, Harry had found his way to the garden, immediately noticing the lilies and smiling bitterly in their wake.

He bent to smell into the plant and noticed they smelled of warm vanilla and mint today.

_Curious._

"M-Mr Potter?" a tiny voice stuttered behind Harry. "Karina said to come out here if we wanted to talk to you."

"I'm all yours, Mister—" he scrambled for the name, mentally kicking himself for not taking a second look at the files.

"Oblitus, sir. Felix Oblitus. Well, that's what they call me here anyway."

"Ah, Felix. I remember you from your picture," the Man Who Lived held his hand out to the teenager and fixed him a smile. "Lovely to finally meet you. How are you?" _Stupid question. How'd you like it when people asked you the same? Like shit, that's how._

"Um, I like to think I've been better. But, as far as my memory goes, I've never been better."

"I'm sorry I asked. I always hated that question. How do you respond when everything is wrong? People don't want to hear your problems usually. It's out of courtesy that they even acknowledge you exist, right?"

The boy tilted his head to the side curiously, as if he'd never heard someone put the idea so bluntly. "Exactly."

"Walk with me."

"Does it get easier?" Felix asked after the pair had made their way towards the mums.

"Never easier, only different. Once one challenge ends, another begins. It's a physics thing, I think. When something leaves an area, that area needs to be filled. It's the same with life. Once something leaves, something or someone takes its place. It's this never-ending cycle. You do become used to it, though. Things tend not to knock you off guard so easily."

"I read about you," Felix said, "in the papers. Is it true what they say about you?"

"You'll have to be specific. They say a lot."

"You're the reason the Dark Lord is gone." Harry nearly forgot that this boy hadn't a memory from before four or five years ago.

"Out of his mistake and my dumb luck, yes. They glorify me in the tabloids. Or completely tear me a new one, but I'm lucky. You're lucky."

"How do you figure that?"

The older wizard sighed, still reminding himself every day that, "We survived."

The two walked in silence then, a comfortable silence, a companionship orchestrated by birds and wind. Harry began to see whatever it was that Hermione had noticed. The boy was familiar in some aspects. However, the question as to why he was familiar escaped him entirely. That nagging tip-of-the-tongue sensation was settling in Harry's stomach and mouth. The reason wanted-needed to come forth, but couldn't decide how to declare itself.

"I think I'll head back inside, Mr Potter," Felix decided. "Would you like to come with me? We're going on a Hogsmeade trip with Mrs Malfoy this evening for dinner and shopping. Maybe you'd like to come?"

"I should probably stay around here with Mr Malfoy. Thank-you, Felix. And call me Harry."

"I read about that, too. You and Mr Malfoy. Is that true?"

Harry shrugged and half-smiled. He was far too tired of the question. If he had known better, he wouldn't have even entertained the notion of spending any time with the blond. Sure, he found himself on the wrong end of trouble his whole life, but this was ridiculous. Making friends was killing him.

_I use the term __friend, loosely._

The Man Who Lived waited outside of the building just long enough to see the inhabitants of the house group together outside with Mrs Malfoy leading. Karina was second in tow. A large bus seemed to drop from the sky and stopped just before touching the ground. Even in its vast size, the bus hardly seemed big enough, but Harry supposed that was the magic of magic—creating the impossible. Of course, Narcissa noticed the man immediately and cast a warning glare before entering the magically enhanced vehicle.

_Now or never._

Going back inside, the building seemed eerily empty without the normal guests. If he chose to, he could have heard his echo, but thought better of it after hearing noise in the kitchen.

Swinging the door open, a creek erupted that travelled throughout the deserted halls and answered Harry's first question about the echo.

"Seamus, I said to go home. We're not having dinner here tonight. They're all out and I can cater for myself."

Harry's heart began to hammer in his chest. "I don't know if I should be surprised."

Another thump and clash echoed as the pot and pan Draco held in his hands clattered to the floor. Whipping himself around in a dizzying fashion, the former Slytherin looked close to crying or punching Harry in the jaw.

Luckily, the Man Who Lived was far enough away to avoid the latter.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco shouted, looking as if he'd forgotten how loud his voice had become.

"It's Thursday," Harry stated simply, quietly.

"Shit, you're right. Did you bring the Veritaserum? No matter, I have some lying around here somewhere." He sifted through a drawer violently to withdraw a small vial. "Here it is." He uncapped the bottle and downed the entirety. The taste was absolutely vile if Harry's memory served him correctly and Draco's nose scrunched in distaste. "Get on with your questioning."

"Draco, I didn't come here to-."

"No," the honest man interrupted. "I'm in no man's debt. You're down to fifty-five minutes."

Harry wanted to break something—anything within arm's reach. This was the last thing he wanted with Draco. A contract. Something that legally bound the pair with no more than a few visits and ended whenever Harry decided to leave. That wasn't companionship. That wasn't a relationship.

_Relationship?_

"Do you really think I've only come to ask you some silly questions?"

"No," Draco answered through clenched teeth.

_Oh, thank Merlin. _"Why do you think I'm here?"

"Because you feel obligated to explain yourself. You're a bleeding hearted Gryffindor until you die." Draco rolled his eyes, his attitude still shining through the truthful haze. "Whenever that happens."

Harry laughed despite himself, stepping about a foot or two closer to the man gripping the edge of the countertop until his knuckles whitened. When there was a meter of space between them, he stopped.

"What's my reasoning?"

"You're some sex starved hero who sees a helpless and confused-about-his-sexuality bloke and you immediately take advantage of him is one of my theories," Draco gritted, biting back the rest of his speech and failing miserably. "Or you may genuinely be attracted to me and just as confused yourself in the matter, thus explaining that dreadfully painful bite you treated me to a few days ago."

The former Gryffindor thought for a moment about each accusation. Perhaps if it wasn't Draco standing here, the first could have held an argument. "I promise not to do so, but would you let me try again?" Emphasizing his point, Harry placed his hand over top of Draco's and smoothed circles onto his knuckles, which served to tighten his, grip at first and loosen only moments later.

The blond looked up to Harry then, a mix of anger, hatred, fear, loathing, and possibly hope shooting through his stormy eyes. His teeth were biting harshly into his bottom lip to the very brink of drawing blood.

Harry waited, holding his breath all the while and releasing it as Draco nodded twice and tightly shut his eyes. He ripped his hand from beneath Harry's as if the wizard had burned it.

"What are you doing to me?" the blond nearly whined. "I don't know what's wrong. I dream of you and my pulse quickens when someone mentions your name. Every time Karina speaks about you, I smile a bit wider. I-I think about you before I fall asleep, after I wake up."

Gaping at the true confession, Harry did his best to collect whatever shred of sanity he had left.

"All I want to think is that you're this perfect hero that couldn't possibly be real and here you are, living like the rest of us, one day at a time. _Surviving. _You're not perfect in the least. You're a man-whore and a potty mouth. You have no sense of manners or subtlety. Your hair is always in disarray and aside from today or at my banquet, you never look like you put any ounce of thought into your outfit. You're too honest and you may not think anyone notices, but your heart is still on your sleeve." Draco took to running his fingers through his hair and pulling on the golden strands, striding back to the Man Who Lived and staring directly into his unmoving gaze. A strange urge surged through Harry, making him almost desperately need to touch that hair. "But, that makes you all the more real. And that terrifies me," he finished in a whisper.

"What terrifies you?"

"The fact that you're real. Makes me think that whatever I'm feeling could be real too."

Harry hadn't remembered seeing the blond this vulnerable since their sixth year. Even then, was his interest purely for the sake of defeating Voldemort? A moment didn't pass during that time where Harry's life didn't revolve around Draco. During the war, after the war, they always had a way of coming back to each other. And each time, one was saving the other.

"I lied about knowing your favourite flavour of ice cream. I used to watch you in sixth year. You always had chocolate if available," Harry uttered softly, rewarding Draco's honesty with his own.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. But, I know I'm starving and I'd love to make dinner if you'd like to wait in your office. The potion should wear off by the time I've finished."

Draco silently complied and left the room for Harry to cook and think.

But, why did this need thought about? It was complicated because of history. Why couldn't Draco be like any other random bloke Harry had found himself with in the recent past?

_Because he's not any random bloke. He's Draco Malfoy, you twat._

Grunting unintelligible things into the air, Harry shuffled through the cupboards to find noodles he could easily boil and jarred alfredo sauce. He'd known the home-made recipes by memory: _two cups of flour, three eggs, two tablespoons of oil and a pinch of salt for the noodles. A fourth cup of butter, one cup of cream, one crushed clove of garlic, one and a half cups of parmesan cheese, and a fourth cup of parsley for the sauce. _But, Harry hadn't the time or resources at hand, so he boiled some water, watched the bubbles rise around the noodles and heated a pot of the store-bought sauce, stirring constantly to keep his mind occupied with the spoon's turns.

With the pasta now in two bowls, Harry carried the meal to Draco's office. Draco the door left ajar and the brunet backed into the room, immediately noticing the blond standing with his back to Harry and his front to the window. Setting the food down, the Man Who Lived cleared his throat.

"I know you're there, Potter. I'm just thinking."

"Can I help?"

Draco snorted. "If you'd like, you can kill me."

"I'd rather not kill anyone," Harry preferred, standing beside the blond. "Let's eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

"Funny," Draco mused. "That's about as long as you've been here."

Harry lolled his head to the side in disapproval, picked up a plate and sat in the chair in front of Draco's desk to eat. "Eat," he commanded. Reluctantly, the blond obeyed.

"Have you read the papers recently?" Draco wondered before taking a small bite.

"Nothing other than the Quibbler. It's the only paper that can guarantee me a Harry Potter free news print unless I'm otherwise told."

"We're front page, again."

"I see."

"They're calling us a couple, a secret item that could have been the cause of your disappearance. Karina's mentioned for a moment, but people will more than likely think that you're the cause of her secrecy. Lover's quarrel."

Harry chewed thoughtfully, wondering why he wasn't more disgusted with the notion.

"You're quite upset about this," he observed.

"You're not?"

Again, Harry shrugged. "They see what they want. Relax a bit. The people who matter won't believe a word of it."

"My mother believes it," Draco muttered.

"Hermione believes it too. My whole house, in fact, with reason though. I told her about my 'biting' you. She saw it coming. Warned me ages ago to stay away from you."

"Are you going to listen to her?"

Another pause ensued. A chance for Harry to back away from all of this. A chance for Harry to enjoy his visit without cause for alarm.

A choice.

"Would you like me to?" Draco could only answer truthfully, seeing as the hour of Veritaserum had been expelled from the wizard's body.

With an audible gulp, Draco seemed to be weighing his own odds.

"No," he finally responded quietly. Harry placed his half-eaten plate on the desk and paced around the frame to stop in front of Draco's feet, taking hold of his chair's arms and staring deftly into the searching grey orbs of his rival. With only a moment's hesitation, Harry brought one hand to the paler man's face and swiped his thumb over a trembling bottom lip. Vanilla and mint overwhelmed Harry's senses as a staggered breath reached his skin.

"Do you have lilies in here?" Harry suddenly asked. "They smelled like mint and vanilla tod—"

Before the final syllable could form, Draco closed the distance between the two wizards. The kiss was much gentler than before, beginning as a shy pressing of lips until Harry reigned in his Gryffindor's courage to ask permission into Draco's mouth with a light swipe of his tongue to the other's bottom lip which had already been abused from biting. The blond granted Harry access and the kiss deepened to a curious exploration. Draco let his tongue tickle the roof of Harry's mouth, which elicited a soft moan from the man above him. Hearing the sound in his own ears, Harry pulled away slowly, pressing small pecks to Draco's cheeks.

"That's me you're smelling, Harry."

The brunet smiled bashfully. "So, what does this mean?" he asked, gesturing to each man.

Again, Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry's.

"I think I'm gay."

The pair laughed as the former Gryffindor went back to his seat and finished his dinner. Reality could wait a few more hours.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

"Ah, you're still here, Mr Potter," Narcissa nearly groaned from the doorway of her son's private office- Karina not far behind, yawning behind her grandmother's legs. "It's a bit late, don't you think? Some of us have other obligations aside from a weekly visit."

_She _hates _me, _Harry mouthed in Draco's direction, earning him a small snigger. A sound the Man Who Lived never thought to appreciate before. A sound he never could _imagine_ appreciating. "Walk me out, Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes widened almost comically, shifting quickly between his mother and Harry, then down to Karina, only to make the cycle again. The brunet laughed in return, his eyes shining with the bit of humour he found in the blond's situation.

"Since you're far too inept to locate the door on your own," Draco spat, partly to cover for the blush in his cheek and partly to deter his pestering mother for as long as possible. "I'll see you out, Potter."

Harry stood from his seat and smiled as sweetly as possible towards Narcissa, remembering not to show too many teeth and politely excused himself through the doorway. The woman rewarded him with a scrunched nose—as if she smelled rotten—and a piercing glower that would have frightened most men. However, having died already did have its advantages in terms of courage and optimism. Looking back, she offered that same face to Draco and he rightfully ignored it.

"Keep quiet on your way out. The kids are all asleep."

"Goodnight, Karina," Harry bid, bending on one knee to look the girl in the eye. Her pale face reddened as well and the man thought he rather liked the reaction he was receiving from most of the Malfoy family. Surprising her with a kiss to the forehead, Karina giggled and Harry could practically feel two pairs of eyes rolling around him. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be right back," Draco promised as Harry rose to his feet. "I will be." This second declaration aimed itself towards a sceptic older woman who _tsk-ed _disapprovingly.

Both men walked down the stairs in silence, watching the other out of the corner of his eye, occasionally smiling if caught chancing a glance. Upon reaching the door, Harry made the apparent move of openly looking at his company.

Turning too abruptly for Draco to discern, the blond stumbled into Harry, steadying himself by taking a lose hold of the offender's shoulder. A quick zing from the tips of his fingers travelled through his arm and straight to the pit of his stomach, making it feel uncomfortably ticklish from the inside.

"All right?"

With an audible gulp, Draco nodded. "Y-yeah. I'm fine. Tired I think."

Harry stepped forward, causing the stuttering wizard to recoil his hand and pull it brutally to his side. With hardly half a foot of space separating the two, the Man Who Lived smirked.

"Dizzy?" he offered. Again, Draco nodded. "A bit of fluttering in your stomach?" Harry asked, running his finger freely over the back of the blond's hand, which twitched at the contact. The former Slytherin closed his eyes in response, swallowing hard. "Heart's beating so loudly in your ears that you're sure I can hear it."

Draco felt the words more than he heard them as Harry's breath ghosted over his ear. And Harry was absolutely right. The beating was much too loud.

A chuckle awoke the blond to reality and his eyes opened wide, his senses going into overdrive now that Harry was so close. His smell was so earthy and warm. The tousled black hair of his former rival was tickling his nose and with every breath, Draco was further overwhelmed with the sickly sweet smell that was uniquely Harry.

As a pair of lips made contact with the skin just below his ear—touching the very edge of his jaw—Draco's mouth slacked and released an undignified sound, only encouraging Harry onward to blow a cool breeze over the slightly dampened spot. Goose-flesh rose along with the fine hairs near Draco's ear and the blond could all but hear the brunet's smile stretching.

"What is this?" Harry whispered, pulling back to look seriously at Draco. His eyes seemed different. Fear and confusion marring their normally confident edges. "What are we?"

Suddenly feeling bold, Draco placed his hand over Harry's mouth to get a word in.

"I don't know. If asked a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have known that I might be attracted to men. I wouldn't have known you still existed for sure. I wouldn't have known that I'd be standing here in front of the great Harry Potter, having him molest my ear." Said man took the liberty of licking the blond's offensive hand. "Hey! I didn't say I was opposed to it. But, I don't know any more than you do. You've been," lowering his voice, "you've been out fornicating with all sorts of random blokes for the past three years and I'm not-." He paused, not knowing exactly what would sound appropriate. "I haven't really had the opportunity to experience as much."

"Delicately put," Harry complimented after the hand left his mouth. "You're worried about how genuine this is? I can't answer that. To be honest, I know very little about anything other than simple fucking."

"Bluntly put," Draco mocked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning away from Harry. His head turned in another direction to clear his sight and consider his options.

"You want more than that."

"I'm not a bloody Hufflepuff, _Potter,_" the blond barked, whipping his head back in Harry's direction to fix a horrid glare.

"Well, I just figured with Karina and the centre, you'd need someone stable and someone to be around for a while. I just don't know if I can promise that."

Draco tried to laugh, but the sound was utterly hollow and unpleasant, like a forced reaction. Luckily, Harry hadn't noticed the strain. Or didn't acknowledge it.

"I'm more than capable of a casual relationship for the few months that you're settled here."

"Month."

"Excuse me?"

"I," Harry started, running his hands through his hair and thinking better of his previous speech. "The wedding was much easier to plan than anticipated. Ron and Hermione are moving the wedding to the end of October."

"It's already the end of September," Draco recalled after a moment's thought.

"Well, aren't you quick." The blond frowned, a pout dressing his lips. "Cute as a button when you're so in love with me, though."

"I absolutely am not for any stretch of the imagination in love with you!" Draco nearly screeched, then quickly cooled himself as he remembered his mother's warning.

"Do relax. I'm only teasing. We'll fool around. Get your feet wet in this newfound sexuality of yours and call it a success. Deal?" Holding his hand for Draco to shake, the former Slytherin shook his head with a snicker before thrusting his hand into the offered. Harry raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Why do you laugh when we shake hands?"

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for irony." The Man Who Lived's brow rose impossibly higher and Draco released a breath of discontent. "You might recall the first time we met?"

Harry bit at the inside of his mouth, his face scrunching in concentration.

"Time's up, Potter."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Harry batted his eyes at a considerable rate in attempts to woo the Slytherin into forgiveness. Draco was momentarily distracted by the very length of those lashes both shielding and enhancing the emerald eyes that had spent so many years loathing his very existence.

"You refused my hand, Harry. Thought you could tell the wrong sort for yourself with no help from someone like me."

"Are you sure it was me? Doesn't sound like something I'd do," Harry remarked sarcastically, his voice dripping with friendly disdain. Draco fought a smile, losing to half of his mouth lifting in amusement. "You _were _a bit of a prat back then. A downright git, if I do say so myself."

"You're still a git, Potter. One of us was bound to grow up." The playful animosity was becoming routine. Perhaps the world was ending.

_Or, I'm losing my mind, _Draco thought. "So, how does this sound? Just sort of being together. A loose interpretation of _friends with benefits._"

"And, we keep it to ourselves?"

"If that's what you'd like, sure. I won't be able to keep it from my house, but as far as anyone else is concerned- and by anyone, I mean those who don't read the paper and already think we're together—we're still bitter rivals. You're using my good name for publicity and I'm trying to be a hero again."

"What part of that last bit was a lie?" Draco mused, resulting in Harry unexpectedly jabbing him between his lower ribs. A feminine squeak passed his lips before he could dissuade its efforts and Draco immediately blushed an interesting shade of scarlet.

_Is this what I want?_

Of course it was. The thought of the world knowing, for absolute certain, that he was even considering the prospect of _courting _the Boy Who Lived…

_Courting- did people even do such things anymore?_

The entire idea was incredibly ludicrous. He'd be sent to Mungo's for sure, if _anyone _caught wind. Something must have cracked in his, lately weakened by stress, mind.

_Yes, that must be it. I'm mentally unstable. Incapable of forming a rational decision._

But that wasn't necessarily true, was it? He _knew_ the logical and safe decision. Find a pure blooded girl, marry her, make another child- preferably a boy to carry the name, and assume from this point on no relationship whatsoever with Harry sodding Potter.

_Lie to yourself __every day__._

_That _was safe; that was _right. _In everyone else's eyes. And Draco's? His vision never seemed so different from the masses.

They'd accepted Harry's lifestyle, they'd accepted his sexuality—embraced it. However, Harry was a veteran hero. Draco was a practiced and experienced Death Eater. He still had the concealed Mark to prove it. Unconsciously, he scratched at his left arm- the fabric clinging.

"Draco?" Harry called in a hush, waving his hands in the blond's face. "Still with us?"

Snapping his eyes shut and shaking his head until a few stray strands of hair decorated his forehead in a disarrayed manner, the former Slytherin collected himself.

"Yeah. I'm here. And it sounds like everything's in order. Keep the general public out our business, stick to a private sort of affair and that's about all there is to it, correct?"

For the briefest of seconds, something flickered across Harry's face- too quick to decipher adequately.

The smile hadn't quite reached his eyes, but the Man Who Lived nodded. "Precisely. I'd shake on it, but I don't want to humour your ironic needs."

"Go home, Potter. Before I decide to report you for molestation."

"You'd do that?" Harry actually considered, reaching around the blond to firmly grab at his bottom- a successful route to an all too embarrassing yelp. "Something tells me otherwise."

"When did the Saviour of the Wizarding World become such a grab-arse?" Draco asked a bit breathless as said Saviour's hand still lingered in a place hardly touched. Not one to back down from an adversary, the former Death Eater maintained the distance—daring even to take a half an inch step forward. "Last time I'd seen him, he'd had one messy go at Cho and a Weaslette who had turned him gay." Another squeeze emphasised some sort of warning and was soon accompanied by a second hand.

Finding his body flush against Harry Potter didn't seem all too disgusting a notion. In fact, it wasn't disgusting at all. It was different. The hard muscle beneath his clothing felt so familiar. The lack of softness, the stern cage made by his relentless arms, the ferocity in his emerald gaze, feeling like the prey.

It was _revolutionary_.

"She wasn't really my type," Harry mumbled, his eyes fixed on Draco's lips- unconsciously licking his own only a fraction of a breath away.

"And what would that be, Potter?" Draco challenged, forgetting his fear of tomorrow's cleared mind and allowing his lips to brush against Harry's after each syllable.

"Most certainly not you, Malfoy," he swore before pressing his lips insistently against the blond's—the attacked closed his eyes upon impact with a groan that vibrated from his own mouth into Harry's. This served to tighten the hold on him, the brunet's arms circling Draco's waist and bringing him impossibly tighter to his chest. Feeling that his own hands were useless at his sides, Draco brought his digits to rest in the mangy and recently adorable mess of raven locks sitting atop of Harry's head. With a minor pull to the strands, Draco's oppressor moaned in approval and nipped at his bottom lip. With tongues battling for dominance, Draco was the first to concede with the need for air as his excuse. Harry continued his journey, moving his onslaught to the paler man's jaw and neck.

_Of course he wouldn't have to fucking breathe. Can't even let me have that one._

A quick lick at his atom's apple silenced any cause for complaint. His knees were shaking and he wondered only for a moment if a real Malfoy would ever subject himself to this kind of compliancy. Harry really seemed to have a knack for shutting his thought process down to remembering to breathe when the need became absolute. _That parentless bastard._

"I'd hate to see what you'd do to someone who met your standards," Draco uttered breathlessly sounding more like: _I-I'd ha-oh-ate to ugh see what fuck you'd do to some__—__heavy panting__—__one who m-met your standohyes__—__ards._

"Haven't found him yet." And, naturally, Harry's voice wasn't marred in the slightest. He had practice though. It was hardly fair. "I suspect we'd hold hands and skip. How frightening indeed."

"What happened to that hopeless romantic I always imagined you to be?" His voice levelled a bit more. Not his most impressive performance, but not as pathetic as his last attempt.

"You fantasised about me, eh?" Harry teased, his right hand snaking back to the front on the tips of his fingers and ghosting right above Draco's trousers- pulling the tucked fabric from its confines and unbuttoning the bottom two buttons to make contact with the warm skin of his lower abdomen. "You wouldn't be the first."

"Quit being in love with yourself, it doesn't suit you."

"And what would suit me?"

_My co__—__what? What am I__—_

Pushing himself deftly away and reeling in some much needed air, Draco worked to slow his pace. Technically, he was no virgin. _Obviously. _But, under these circumstances, he felt inept and inexperienced. Not to say that a virgin was such a thing, simply that he was in no shape- mentally or physically- to compete with Harry's raging libido.

"Too fast," Draco huffed, placing his hand over his chest to trap his overactive heart. "Not here." And on a second note, he was still within his charity centre.

_Minor details._

A bit of a flush coloured the Hero's cheek and Draco marked that as a victory. Harry definitely made an attractive dishevelled man. If the hungry glint in his eye was anything to go by, the brunet felt at least partly the same of Draco's appearance as well.

"You're right. I'm sorry." His voice was somewhat shaken. "I should probably get going."

Opening the door behind him and pushing it open, Harry stared strangely at Draco with his head tilted and his mouth stuttering without words. In one swift motion, the Man Who Lived took hold of the blond's jaw and pressed a soft kiss to the other's cheek. He smiled gently and winked.

"I'll see you next week. G'night, Draco."

The door clicked behind him and the remaining man leaned against it for support, exhaling heavily. A small knock sounded behind him and his mind fell right back to Harry. _As if__,__ it left._

A woman of dark blonde hair and heavier stature stood in the doorway, Draco's evening sitter and guard for the centre. Slightly disappointed, he allowed entrance.

"My office is all yours, Tess. I'll be back in the morning."

With a quick _snap, _Draco was outside of his Manor's gates. After reaching the inside, he met the terrible picture of his mother in complete annoyance.

"Do you enjoy deliberately disobeying me?"

"It's a pastime I gave up on after the age of five," Draco quipped with equal vigour.

"Aren't we clever?"

"I certainly think so. But, don't let me keep you. I'd love to hear what you have to say."

Anger was cascading off Narcissa and stampeding into Draco. "There's nothing else to add. I told you not to become involved with Potter and you have. Even for the sake of your daughter." As if on cue, a faint "Daddy" reached their ears.

"Duty calls to that daughter I seem not to care about."

"Draco, I didn't say-."

He'd already left before the sentence could finish. _What the bloody fuck did she know?_

"Daddy?" Karina beckoned again.

"What is it, Sweetheart?" Draco cooed, lying beside the girl and tucking her into his side. She snuggled comfortably and sighed while the blond brushed through some knotted strands with his fingers. "Can't sleep?"

Feeling the _no _shaken into his ribcage, Draco kissed the top of her head. "Grandma says Harry's leaving soon."

"He is," the man whispered. A tense bout of silence ensued.

"Will he leave like Mummy?" she wondered, a small hitch signifying a choked sob.

"Karina." What else could he say if his heart was breaking? Instead, he held the girl closer, feeling a thick fog form in his chest. Something was tearing at his insides, a constriction both physically and mentally painful. "He's just going to go back home."

"Will he come visit us?" Karina sniffed. "After he goes back home? Will he still come every week?"

"I don't know, Honey. Maybe. He doesn't like it here very much."

"Is it because of you?" _Not right now._

"No," he answered honestly. "He doesn't like the memories he has here. Gives him bad dreams."

"Does he like us?" Draco chuckled at her childlike question, the rumbling shaking his daughter atop his stomach.

"He likes _you _a whole lot." This seemed to satisfy the girl into closing her eyes. When her breathing became even, Draco just continued to stare at the ceiling. He wouldn't sleep a wink that night.

* * *

><p>Harry hadn't known what he would walk into after his day at the centre. He knew that picture wasn't of Ron, sitting in the family room and looming over a bewitched seating chart with his head resting in his hand very much alone.<p>

"Did I miss something?"

"Everyone's still out celebrating for George," Ron muttered, never lifting his head from the moving tables. "Twins, Harry. Twins."

_Oh, right. George is pregnant, well, Luna is._

"You alright?" Observing the youngest Weasley son in such a mellowed and hollow state was unnerving to say the least. "Talk about it, Ron."

"It's just, Hermione was so happy about it. She knew of course, but she was so excited. I don't think I can be a father. I know that won't be for some time, but even then. I can't see myself bouncing a little girl or boy on my knee, or changing a diaper, or warming a bottle, or not breaking it." The agitated man pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes, the thoughts of the future taking a rather hard toll.

"If its any consolation, I think you'd make a great dad. Draco's told me you can't help but love your own kid. You'll mess up and may even drop him a few times. No one's perfect. There's no such thing."

"I bet you'd be better at it than I would."

"One problem," Harry observed. "I can't get pregnant. And as exceptional as I am, I can't make another man pregnant either."

"Ha bloody ha," Ron attempted not to laugh, but a smirk inched its way across his lips. "How'd that whole fiasco boil over anyhow? Did the ferret knock your teeth in?" Harry smiled, showing every tooth deliberately. "All accounted for. S'pose that means it was relatively successful?" With one nod, he locked the redhead into a fit of tears from laughter. "How in the hell are you back for less than a month, start one of the biggest romantic scandals, befriend a childhood rival and Death Eater, and turn him gay?"

"I didn't turn anyone gay. He's always been that way and just hasn't known yet. We're just messing around until I leave."

"Still set on going back to that shit-hole of an apartment?" Ron mused, glancing back down at the place settings. "Sure that's what you'll want?"

"A—it's not a shit hole. And B—of course I'm sure. Maybe I won't stay away so long, but this isn't home anymore."

"Don't be so sure about that, Harry. A lot can change in the next month."

"Say something if it's on your mind," Harry challenged.

"It's never been so complicated with anyone else. I think your treading through some pretty dangerous waters here, Mate."

The Man Who Lived sighed, "It's only complicated because of our history."

"A history of hate hardly a love story makes."

"Be careful, Ron," Harry warned. "Your insight might be showing." A swift punch to the shoulder had the brunet feigning a painful expression. "Honestly, I wouldn't worry. Draco's not anywhere near my type anyway."

"The type you fuck on a schedule? No, he doesn't seem to be. That's what makes it scary, Potter. I'm not telling you not to have at it, but I am warning you to mind yourself."

Before Harry could return the sentiments, the front door opened and smacked into the wall behind it- introducing four Weasleys, Luna and Hermione. Aside from Luna, each member seemed thoroughly smashed and giggly.

"Lover boy's back!" George cheered with a fist to the air, almost knocking his brother Charlie's chin. "And no need to fret, they all know you knew first and only Mum is slightly pissed."

"Oh, I'm not angry at you, Harry," Molly promised, clutching to her husband's arm for support. "How was your day, dear? Patch things up with Malfoy?"

"The bloody ponce will be seeing Draco in private," Ron interjected, highly absorbed in his table setting. Hermione was too far-gone to chastise the man for his name-calling. Hearing George's snort bellowing around the room was frighteningly loud in Harry's sober ears.

"Good on ya, Harry! What all'd d'you do to 'im?"

"We kissed," the Man Who Lived said only a moment sooner than Charlie's leaving to another room. "That's all, George."

"Kissed cocks?" Luna laughed at his language, her eyes sparkling and her belly not even showing. His mother, on the other hand, pinched his ear and dragged him into the kitchens. Everyone could hear his protest, yet could not understand it.

"Hello, Harry," Luna smiled. "It's wonderful to see you. Dad always did say you'd come back near the fifth coming of the Dragon's Tail."

Not even trying to understand, Harry simply hugged the pregnant woman in greeting. Hermione, a bit light on her feet rolled her eyes when their glances met.

Her look screamed _I knew it. _And really, how was Harry to argue?

"Why'd Charlie leave so quickly?" the brunet wondered aloud. "I still haven't gotten a good chance to talk to him."

"You're not all _that _daft. Are you, Harry?" With a vacant expression, Hermione slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Apparently you are. He's a bit uncomfortable with your relationship to Draco. He still has a bit of a thing for you."

"Really? I'm the reason he left. Why could he possibly still see in me?"

"Maybe he wasn't running because of you. Perhaps he was running _from _you. You boys can be so clueless sometimes."

"Tell me about it," Ron mumbled loud enough for his fiancé to hear.

"Oh, Ron. Still being a sourpuss? Can't you just be happy? We're getting married after all!"

"And you're drunk as hell."

Burping a snicker, Hermione sat directly into the man's lap with _crack _from one of Ron's knees. "M'not drunk," she burbled into the redhead's throat. "Juss tired's all." Picking the woman up in one swift motion, the future groom carried his intoxicated bride up the stairs to their rooms. Luna followed, saying something about pinching your right toe to alleviate a hangover and leaving Harry alone. That peace was short lived.

"Hey, Harry," Charlie said quietly. "Bit of a circus in here, eh?"

"You can say that. Absolutely," the Hero agreed. "How are you?"

"Well, I'm hanging in there. Lot of shocks tonight, you know? Just trying to let it all soak in."

"I know. The whole twins ordeal is just incredibly surprising."

Blushing, Charlie looked to his and Harry's feet. "And the news about you and Malfoy was a bit of a shock."

"Bit of a shock for me too, I'm afraid. Didn't even know he swung that way."

"I think anyone would for you, Harry." The colour reddened further and Charlie finally looked to the man he was speaking of and to. "He's lucky."

"We really aren't much of anything, Charlie. I'm helping him with his shelter while I'm here and we're just fooling for the time being. Nothing serious and it's entirely secret."

For the next hour, Harry did his best not to mention the impending casual relationship. He focused his mind's eye on collecting all of the information he could about Charlie's whereabouts. What he'd been doing all this time, who he'd seen or been with. The man hadn't much to tell. Training dragons hadn't left very much time for socializing and it tired the poor man to near comatose states. He thought of Harry a lot while he was away. Of course, the Hero veered away from that subject rather quickly.

Harry felt utterly confused by a pecking at the window. Who would send him a mail at this hour of the night?

Nonetheless, it was a welcomed distraction.

"Who's owl is that?" Charlie asked as Harry opened the window to let the bird drop its message. It looked to be an eagle owl, its pride exuding through the stubborn peck to the brunet's left pointer finger.

"Dunno," Harry remarked honestly, noting that the letter was addressed to him.

_Harry,_

_I know we decided on a private affair, but I fear I'm absolute shite at presents and would greatly appreciate your assistance in purchasing some ornate gift for the upcoming wedding._

_If you're free this Saturday, Mother will be tending to the __centre__ and I will have the day to run my errands. It would be incredibly helpful if you could join me. Just attach your response to Dempsey and he'll be sure to send it back._

_-Draco_

"Who's it from?"

_Of course. See you at noon. Same __parlour__ as last time._

_-Harry_

_Ps: Get some rest. I won't be seen with you in public looking like shit._

Harry spelled wandlessly onto the back of the owl's letter and shooed him away with a pat to the head.

"It was from Draco."

"Sending love letters already?" Charlie mocked half-heartedly.

_I wouldn't go that far. _The bird had returned in only moments with another envelope.

_Go fuck yourself, _it read.

Harry chuckled to himself and bid the older Weasley a good night, still clutching the parchment to his chest.

With the silly grin still on his face after entering his room and changing into his pyjamas, Harry suddenly felt very anxious and ceased his smile.

_Relax, Boy Wonder. You're just tired from a long day._

Whether from exhaustion or that comforting idea, Harry fell uneasily into unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

_Tangled in foreign sheets that were far more comfortable than his __own, __the Man Who Lived sighed in total contentment while his eyes fluttered open and closed. Open and closed._

"_I thought you'd sleep all day," someone reflected beside him. __Harry turned away from the virile voice of his company__. Without looking into his face, the brunet rolled over and threw one arm over the other man's taught stomach while simultaneously resting his head on a hairless chest._

_Tracing patterns indolently on the lower stomach of the man caused a rumbled chuckle to shake Harry. The noise was utterly familiar and oddly calming._

"_You know that tickles," the voice pronounced. Where had he heard this voice? He could very easily glance upward, but he was so comfortable and couldn't justify spoiling the moment. So, he hadn't and opted to nod his response instead. "Then, why do you do it?"_

"_To hear you laugh," Harry stated simply, honestly._

"_You're far too sweet, Chosen One." Normally, anyone calling him this name aggravated Harry to no end. It was as good as his given title in this scenario. But, why? __Whom__ did this voice belong to? "What should I do with you?"_

_A hand snuck its way into Harry's hair and began breaking through sweat soaked locks. He hadn't known himself capable, but the brunet actually began to purr from the attention. Apparently__,__ this was humorous to the man beneath him as another chuckle erupted and caused the hand to stop its ministrations._

"_Don't stop," Harry whined pitifully._

_The hand resumed its petting._

"_Harry?"_

"_Hm?" came the dignified response._

"_I'm hungry, come get breakfast with me and we can finish fixing your hair later."_

_Groaning in discontent, Harry lifted his head to meet stormy, grey eyes that continued to dilate until a ring of silver was all Harry could see. Hair in complete and total disorder, skin still slightly flushed and an innocent smile playing on his lips, Draco looked __breath taking__._ "_Promise you'll play with my hair later?"_

_The smile stretched further and Draco leaned forward to press a small kiss to the middle of Harry's brow bone._

"_Of course," he promised. His eyes bled sincerity and genuine happiness. "I love you."_

"_Love you too. Now, let's get something in my stomach. I'm starving."_

* * *

><p>"Harry, wake the piss up this very instant!" Ron screamed, holding tightly onto his thrashing friend's shoulders and very nearly missing a flail to the temple.<p>

Rising too quickly, the brunet launched himself from his sleeping position right into Ron's forehead.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Ron. Fuck. What were you doing here?"

"You were having some sort of fit, like a nightmare or something. Voldemort again?"

Harry shook his head and rubbed the bruising area. "Not Voldemort. Draco Malfoy."

"Really? What happened, mate?"

"He asked me to breakfast and I said yes," the man shuddered. If the hysterical laughter was any sign, the engaged obviously found this answer to be highly amusing. "What the bloody hell are you laughing about?"

"Are you kidding? You killed Voldemort and you have nightmares about going out to breakfast with a bloke?"

"Piss off! I'm being serious!" Harry raged and smacked his pillow into the sensitive spot where he had already wounded the redheaded man.

"Okay, sorry. Wanna talk about it?" It could have been a touching moment if Ron hadn't settled for giggling between syllables. "Honestly, I'm listening."

Against his better judgment, Harry took the offer. "It looked like a morning after. We were cuddling and being sentimental. He asked me to breakfast and told me he loved me. I told him I loved him back and accepted breakfast. I don't eat breakfast with them on the morning after, Ron. I just don't do that." The panic in Harry's voice was utterly authentic. And with the force he was applying to the roots of his hair, the man could have begun to bald if Ron hadn't forced his appendages to his sides.

"It was a dream. Even if your fear was rational, it didn't actually happen. You can keep being the unattached lover you've always been. Don't read into it. Don't over react. And for the love of Merlin, don't tell George," Ron cautioned before going pale at the very thought of his brother hearing Harry's nightmare.

"What's with the screaming, Harry? My head is absolutely pounding" Hermione yawned in the doorway and observed a scene of her fiancé and gay best friend holding hands with their faces relatively close together, both sweaty and breathing heavily. "Oh, please tell me I didn't walk in on you turning my future husband gay, Harry. That's the very last thing I can handle as of now." The witch rubbed her temples gently to alleviate some of the pain from the horrendous hangover she was experiencing.

"Hermione, you're smarter than this. If I wanted to sleep with Ron, I would have done it in fifth year when he was almost attractive."

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked over to the pair, sitting between them to maintain her assurance of her fiancé's sexuality. Harry assumed her motives in a second and 'accidentally' kicked the woman while adjusting his sitting position.

"Really though, what's wrong? Voldemort nightmares?"

"Draco nightmares," Ron explained even as Harry gaped his not-another-word expression. "He and Draco were together in a dream. A serious relationship. Breakfast and bed talk—the whole deal."

Hermione tried to laugh, but the effort it took made her stomach turn.

"It really isn't all that funny." Charming the time wandlessly to flicker over his head, he grumbled and threw himself back onto his pillows. "It's only nine AM. I don't usually wake up until noon if I have nothing better to do. What's wrong with me?"

"Could you not do wandless magic if your wand is half a foot away," Ron muttered. "It makes me look bad."

"If you'd like, we can switch lives and you can have all the wandless magic you've ever dreamed of."

Thinking better of it, the youngest Weasley son politely declined. "Go back to sleep if you're so tired. I'm not really going to need any help today, and I think Hermione's spending the afternoon with Ginny."

Just about every ounce of blood fell from Harry's face at that random fact. The flippancy of the statement probably meant that Ron thought this to be common knowledge, but by the looks of his fiancé and best friend, he was entirely wrong.

"And I'm going to leave now," Ron declared, not making any eye contact or breeding another word on the matter.

"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure she'd be coming or if she was interested in being my Maid of Honour. Please don't hate me," Hermione begged. The alcohol still floating in her system made her emotions run on the highest-level possible, so high, in fact, that tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Like I could hate you," Harry said after releasing the breath he'd been holding and feeling some of the colour return to his face. "I understand why you wouldn't have told me until you were sure. Unnecessary worry. But, you're sure you're okay with this?"

"If you're okay, I'm okay. I wasn't the one threatened with propaganda."

"You mean the truth?" he corrected. "She wasn't going to lie to the press. I did everything she accused me of. Sure, she forced me to come out before I was entirely ready, but I should probably thank her for the push."

"Should you thank her for cheating on you too?"

Rubbing at the stubble growing on his cheek, Harry chortled airily. "Is it terrible that I've never been bothered by it? I wanted so much to love her back and be normal that when I finally had the opportunity and couldn't, I felt as guilty as if I were cheating on her for years. She knew from the beginning that I wasn't all there. My love wasn't the kind a boyfriend gave. It was brotherly and protective. Totally uninterested in anything sexual."

"How is that your fault? You didn't ask to be this way."

"And she didn't ask to be lied to and led on by the irresistible charm of the Boy Who Lived," Harry kid with a half grin. "No one asked for it."

With a heavy sigh, Hermione patted the man's shoulder. Attempting pitifully to understand what he must have went through. Harry put his hand atop of hers and squeezed it once.

"Have fun today, okay? You deserve a bit of it every now and then. Especially girl time with an actual girl."

The witch laughed. "She may as well be you. You can't talk about being attracted to someone when that someone is her brother. It's absolutely vile. In school, I'm sure she detested every conversation about Ronald."

"Never mentioned it to me. She loves you. Always thought you and Ron would be perfect."

"I'm worrying about nothing, aren't I?"

"M'fraid so," Harry sympathised, "We all do that. Even the brightest of us."

"It's hard being so perfect, you know? I mean, the Hero of the Wizarding World may have some inkling as to the pressure."

"Eh, even I haven't a clue as to what you're going through."

"Oh!" Hermione suddenly startled. "How did yesterday go? I'm so sorry I pretty much passed out too quickly to hear about it."

"Well," Harry began, scratching the back of his head and sifting beneath his pillow to pull out an envelope. "We're going out tomorrow," he explained after handing over the parchment. "Shopping for your wedding."

"I'm capable of reading, you know."

"Well, someone seems to be menstruating today," Harry quipped, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Come off it, Harry. I'm joking. Don't get your panties in a twist." Reading over the letter again, her face wrinkled in thought with lips pursed to the right. "You've just seen him yesterday. Don't think you'll get a bit sour with him after a while? What's your usual routine? Three times a month, tops?"

"Normally, yes," Harry answered readily. "But, it isn't as if we're shagging at all. We're working together for the most part and I don't think this is an invitation for a quick romp."

"I worked with him for months. Granted, I was engaged and he was seemingly gay the entire time, but we were hardly seen together socially. No public outings. Never spent time with his daughter. You've made the paper with him twice already and are probably looking to have a picture again tomorrow. He's not in your position. He's never had the opportunity to explore what you have." One finger pointed upwards on Hermione's right hand, silencing Harry's desire to open his mouth and speak. "I just think that this may be more serious to him than to you at the end of the day."

"Herm, he's a man." _And if my dream did him any justice, what a man indeed. _"I wouldn't sully his pride by assuming he's not emotionally capable of this."

"And you're emotionally capable? Hard as stone, right?" Harry chuckled at the double entendre followed by a tiny pinch to his bare arm. "You know what I mean, pervert."

"Sorry, sorry," he tried, waving his hands in surrender. "I know what you mean, and yes. He's no different than any other man I've been with. If anything, he'll just be more difficult to bed." _And more difficult to get out of bed with._

_Shut your dirty mouth, brain!_

"Your whoring around makes me queasy. Or it could be the hangover."

"Take a drought," Harry insisted, searching through the drawer at his side for his stash of potions. Locating the purple substance, he turned to find Hermione shaking her head.

"No, I'm learning from this," she whispered. Her headache was noticeably growing worse. "Distract me. Did you talk to Charlie?"

"Didn't bode well. He's a tad uncomfortable with Draco and I. He'll get over it, though." _I hope._

"I'm sure it's just strange to see you again, too. Especially since it's been so long. You've both changed so much."

"Really? He doesn't look a day older to me. And I've hardly grown." Checking his hands and arms just to be sure he wasn't sporting a new colour without realizing it, he concluded that his physical appearance was very much the same as it had been three years ago.

"Mentally, Harry. He's not as light-hearted as he once was. You're a bit more cynical. You've kept busy to be sure. His last go was with you and I doubt you can remember the last man you've been with."

"That's not true at all, his name was-." _Oh, fuck. I know this one. Started with an S. Maybe a T? John? No, it was Steve. That's not even close. W__-__Warren? _"Okay, so I don't remember exactly."

"I should probably be disgusted. But, I'm not."

"Hermione, what a surprise! Not condemning me for my actions? I'm shocked." Pretending to still his heart, Harry gasped exaggeratedly.

"Just, if Charlie wants to talk about it, let him? I'm sure this isn't the most comfortable position he's been in."

"I will. I may be a slut, but I'm not heartless. Do me a favour, though? Keep all of this from George. I'm not sure if I'm ready for that torture yet."

The witch smiled. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Too late, Harry," George sounded from what seemed a few rooms down the hall. "But, I'll try not to disappoint you with the torturing."

"Damn-it! I thought he was gone with Luna," Harry almost screeched. "Next time I find that ruddy ear, I'm burning it," he yelled loud enough to pierce George's own hearing. "No wonder they were illegal at Hogwarts for a while. Maybe Umbridge wasn't as psychotic as we thought." Thinking back to the healing scars on his hands, Harry quickly disagreed with himself. "Never mind. The woman was nuts."

"Absolutely bonkers," Hermione agreed and stood to leave. "Care to come with me this afternoon?"

"I'd prefer to live until your wedding. I may not have an issue with Ginny, but I can guess she's not all too excited to see me just yet."

"Glad you declined. I was only being polite." With a wink, the woman left. Harry didn't have the energy to feel angry towards George. At this hour, he hadn't the energy for anything. How did people start their day so early? Why weren't they too exhausted to provide any constructive matter? Granted, Harry'd been tossing all night with his dreams, but certainly not all people had to go through such things to wake up. Some did it of their own free will.

That very thought alone gave the Man Who Lived the absolute chills.

A quiet tapping at his door woke Harry from his inner monologue complaint.

"Good morning, Harry." It was Charlie. "I'm making breakfast since Mum's still fighting a wicked headache. Care to help?"

_No._

_Remember what Hermione said._

_Fuck._

"Yeah, sure, Charlie. Let me use the loo and brush my teeth first. My breath has to be atrocious," Putting a hand to his mouth and breathing out to let the smell reach his nose, Harry cringed in concurrence with his former statement. His shiver was enough to make the red-haired man laugh and walk away.

After washing his hands and deciding his breath to be fresh enough, the Hero made his way towards the kitchen, stretching his arms above his head and listening to the musical styling of his spine. A dropped something-or-other ended that symphony and Harry looked around to see a flustered Charlie, gawking at his midsection. Only then did it occur to Harry that he'd fallen asleep the night before in nothing but his boxers. He was as nude as a television program could legally show him in the company of a man who still seemed very much attracted to him if his reaction was any consolation.

_Oh, Merlin's beard. Really, Harry? Really?_

Mentally backhanding himself, the brunet wanted so badly to run from the room, shrink to the nearest corner and double over from death. But, some little voice in the back of his mind told him to stay. Leaving would make things that much more awkward.

_Pretend nothing is out of the ordinary._

To be honest, it wasn't. Harry really only ever slept in clothing if it was too cold to protest. The fabric always left indentions on his skin, reminding him of scars.

He'd seen far too many of those for his liking.

"So, what're we making?" Harry asked nonchalantly, sitting on a stool across from Charlie.

"Um, well, we're uh—making um, I guess we c-can make." About a minute of stuttering commenced until the Man Who Lived couldn't watch such suffering anymore.

"How about pancakes? And omelettes. Lots of hardy food for their upset stomachs. Put some tea on too, yeah?" With a wordless nod, Charlie filled a pot with water and set it on the stove, charming the water to heat quickly. "Thank-you, but do you think you could move over?" The redhead was glued to the spot right in front of the burner Harry was looking to use. He stumbled with a muttered apology and took to the stool the former had been occupying.

"S-so, any big plans for the weekend?" Charlie attempted. The clumsiness evident in his question.

"Not really. Going to Diagon Alley tomorrow." _With Draco. No need to add._

"Ah, with whom?"

_Oh, shit. _"Um, Draco. He needs some help with a wedding present."

"I'm sure that's _all _he needs help with," Harry heard mumbled behind him. Turning up the flame to heat the pan, the Hero turned sharply and paced to loom over the table.

"Excuse me?"

"W-what?" Charlie stuttered as though the statement was supposed to remain a thought.

"You said, 'I'm sure that's all he needs help with.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"D-don't you think it's strange that a Malfoy is agreeing to cooperate at all with a Potter? What makes you think there's something more behind it? It wouldn't be the first time his family was interested in something bigger than the papers new about," Charlie accused with very little speech trouble.

The sound Harry made compared to a cackle in its hollowness. "What would you know? You just met him."

"I knew his father. I saw what his father did."

"Well, his father's dead."

Sadly dropping his chin to his chest, Charlie stood. His height marked a good four inches over Harry. "Thanks to you."

The brunet was quivering and could hear the chiming of glasses moving in the cupboards behind him, the clambering of pots and pans in some distorted chorus from his anger's magic.

"He's not his father," the man gritted through a clenched jaw. "I didn't kill Lucius either. The only person I killed was Voldemort and I didn't even use the curse. So, excuse me if I disagree with it being my fault that his father died. I didn't sign the Kiss."

Inching back to his seat, Charlie nodded with wide eyes, terrified by the sheer power Harry was exuding. The fuming wizard returned to his hot plate at the sound of the tea whistling.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I-."

"Don't bother." Silence encompassed the room as Harry mixed ingredients and cracked eggs, swiftly completing breakfast while Charlie's eyes bore holes into whatever spot of flesh they could find. The Hero tried to ignore it—the piercing stare. But, it became overwhelming to the point of slamming the now filled plate on the countertop. "What do you want to say? Spit it out already."

"N-nothing," he stammered again.

Not looking up from his pile of pancakes and feeling the muscles in his shoulders twitch with unease; Harry willed his rage to subside. It needed to die off before he broke something. Why the anger though? Why did it matter what Charlie thought of the relationship? This was how the public was supposed to feel. Harry was a saviour and Draco was using him. Everyone expected it. Everyone already believed it.

Some song took hold in Harry's mind, though he couldn't remember the exact tune or origin—_They called me wonderful, so I said, "Wonderful, if you insist. I'll be wonderful." And they said, "Wonderful."_

_I'm whatever they say I am, and Draco too. That's the plan._

"I'm sorry I lashed out at you. You're allowed to have an opinion. I shouldn't have been so cross. You probably only have my best interest at heart and I took it the wrong way." Closed teeth hissed an apology that sounded more like a threat.

"That's all right, Harry. I know you're stressed with being back and having the wedding and the centre probably isn't doing you any favours as far as stress goes."

Rolling his eyes and producing a tired snicker, "You have no idea."

"Something sure smells good in here," George interrupted, surveying the room in a quick glance. "Harry, put a fucking shirt on."

* * *

><p>Draco was falling asleep in his bowl of oatmeal when his nose actually touched into the still burning substance, causing him to shout above the noise of the dining hall as the guests ceased enjoying breakfast.<p>

"I'm fine, everyone. No need to panic," he assured, wiping the tip of his nose with the back of his sleeve. He was certain that his reflection would run from itself this morning and of course there were to be some perspective adoptive parents today. Of course he would be running on the moments of sleep he'd just spent in his breakfast. And he was running the centre alone today without his mother who was busy with Karina. And of course the only person he could think to call on was Harry.

But, that was needy, wasn't it? What was all included in the benefits of a 'friends with benefits' deal? Perhaps there was a book written about it. A _Dating Your Nemesis for Dummies. _They had books for just about everything these days.

Or, did you write your own rules? Damn-it to hell if this wasn't a complicated wreck. Did it matter who broke first to see the other? Technically Draco had already lost after inviting Harry out on Saturday. It wasn't as if they could grope in public. Not that Draco would _want _something like that.

Private groping was just fine.

It hadn't been until the other night that Draco had finally realised all of the pent up sexual frustration he'd been subjected to. Naturally, sex hadn't been his first priority in the recent years. Hogwarts hadn't provided a whirlwind of experience seeing as everyone attending was beneath him at the time and far too impure to even consider being with physically. If he'd wanted, Draco could have had anyone. He was attractive, intelligent, and rich. If he minded his haughtiness, he could have been anyone's trophy husband. Most notably, Astoria's. However, when the time came to propose, Draco couldn't.

Now, he understood why. Even then, he was never the least bit bitter towards his oldest genuine friend, Blaise. The man stood beside Draco as he received his Dark Mark. In fact, they received it together, charming each other to make the pain at least numb slightly. So, it never occurred to him to stand anywhere other than at Blaise's side during his wedding to Astoria. Of course, he was busy training to become an Auror. Something he'd secretly wanted to be all throughout Hogwarts. Like Draco, he was forced into a position he had no business being in. He was young and terrified. Mistakes were made…

Mistakes that even Blaise knew nothing of—that not a soul separate from Narcissa knew. Secrets that would destroy everything Draco had built if discovered.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Revolving too quickly, Draco tripped over his own feet, collecting himself at the precise right time. "Yes, Felix?" he answered, hoping to ignore his embarrassing footing.

"Are you all right?" _Well, that plan failed miserably._

"Yes. I'm just a bit tired. Did you need something?"

"Well, will Mr Potter be back again next week? I'd like to talk to him. I think it's pretty urgent. The doctors said at Saint Mungo's that if I'm ready and willing to talk about what I've been through, I need to do it as soon as possible before I lose my nerve. I trust Harry."

_Everyone does. _"Yes, he'll be back on Thursday. Would you like to talk with me?" _Like that's anywhere near the same._

"No sir," he responded promptly, looking nervous. Fidgeting with his thumbs while his fingers laced together tightly. "Thank-you for the offer."

Scurrying away, Draco shrugged in near indifference. He didn't need to be great with every child. Some weren't going to like him, such as Felix.

_He looks so much like someone._

Or he was losing quite a bit of his mind. Either was entirely possible. However, there wasn't much time to ponder the options as he noticed two pairs of parents looking hopelessly lost at the front door's entrance.

Draco shuffled through the kids and smiled as confidently as he could with the lack of sleep he'd put himself through.

"Draco Malfoy," the blond introduced, presenting his hand and shaking all four in return. "Come up to my office, we'll fill out some paperwork and see what we can have figured out by this afternoon."

* * *

><p>For as inept as Draco felt this morning, he certainly showed none of that doubt. Both families were very willing to adopt. A Healer and his Auror wife were interested in three children even, unable to conceive one of their own.<p>

None of the hair torn out through breakfast could have been wasted if these meetings had gone so well. After a quick call to Child Services, these children would have a new home with caregivers who were more than capable and seemingly wonderful with the young witches and wizards while they played and became acquainted with one another. If all went according to plan, four new spots would open to four new needy children.

_If only Father could see me now._

"Excuse me, Draco Malfoy?" Rotating to the tapping on his left shoulder, Draco fixed his eyes on a tall young man he presumed to be not much older than he with dirty blond, olive skin and one of the largest and whitest smiles he'd ever seen. "Terence Higgs. You may or may not remember me, but we went to Hogwarts together for a year."

_Higgs … the Seeker for … Montrose Magpies? No, that couldn't be right._

"This is probably a ridiculous question, but do you play Quidditch?"

Snickering with lightly dusted cheeks, Terence nodded. "I do—I did for Slytherin. I believe you replaced me."

"Wow, I-I well, why are you here?" Feeling entirely rude, Draco tried again. "Sorry, but how can I help you?"

"I'd like to look into adoption. Oh, and to donate on behalf of the team. Tickets to our next game if that can be arranged for the centre."

Dumbfounded, the blond could only think to gape unattractively. "Absolutely. Were you looking to adopt soon? Just want to meet the kids?"

"Terence Higgs!" a boy shouted, causing an intense crowd to form around the pair. Screams of teenage girls rattled and boys tumbled over each other to talk to the sports celebrity.

"Are you here to take one of us home?"

"I've always wanted a dad that played Quidditch."

"Sign my arm, Terence? So I can have it tattooed?"

"Did you really catch the Snitch in the world's fastest time for a game?"

_Oh, bloody hell. _"Kids, let Terrence breathe. Please."

Laughing wholeheartedly, and smiling with that gigantic smile, "I don't mind, Draco. Really."

Something shifted in the Malfoy heir's stomach at this smile. It wasn't the same twisted knot that festered with Harry around, but it was similar from what he could tell. Blushing, Draco nodded and gave the man his space to enjoy some time with his fans. Could he have been looking at Terence _that _way? Could he? Two days ago, he wouldn't have entertained the idea in the slightest? He was certainly fit. And Draco could remember him. Vaguely, but the memory did exist. He must've grown in talent significantly since then seeing as Harry was able to beat him for the Cup. The Magpies were incredible—definitely a favourite for this year. And a _Seeker _of all positions? In his centre? Playing with his kids?

Where were the paparazzi now?

"Mum always said he's about as flaming as a marshmallow readying for a s'more," Seamus articulated beside the blond, taking a seat at the very empty table. "Right as rain that woman was. Guy came out not too long ago. Of course, your story beat his on the cover what with Harry being involved, but damn-it if me mum wasn't right again."

"Does that make him any less of a talented Seeker?" Draco questioned, folding his hands on his lap while he watched the player's interaction and chemistry with a four-year-old girl named Isabelle.

"Not at all. Just sick of her being right is all. One day, I'll get to say, I-told-you-so and it'll be magical. Maybe when she starts to like Pans." Both men bit back a loud chuckle in vain. Pansy certainly was an acquired taste to be sure. "That won't happen, will it?"

"With enough liquor, anything is possible."

"Can you imagine? Getting your mum drunk? I can't decide if that's disturbing or genius."

Deciding for himself that it would be impossible to intoxicate his own mother before she figured out the scheme, Draco opted not to answer. Maybe he could ease into coming out officially to his all-knowing mother.

"You should go after'm, mate," Seamus interjected between Draco's conversations with himself. Obviously noting the blond's unconscious admiration of the professional Seeker's rear end. "A big ol' philanthropist like yourself making good with a famous Seeker? That might make the succeeding article after Harry's."

"Excuse me?" Draco panicked; feeling beads of sweet form in his hands and his mouth dry up. "W-what could I possibly—"

"Oh, come off it. I'm married to Pansy. She knew after third year. Now, there's a chance that she could be wrong, but very unlikely. And your eyes have been glued to his ass since you sat down. I may not know gay men well, but I know that look. You want to jump his bones." The last was stated so simply that even if the thought weren't true, Draco would have a hard time disputing it.

"Keep your fucking voice down, Finnigan. It's not exactly public knowledge."

_And whatever the piss he had with Harry, was that open to other suitors as well?_

"Hey, secret's safe here. Not that anyone would be surprised. The _Prophet_ is pretty damn set on you and Harry as a couple. What better a way to sway them otherwise?"

If he hadn't been infuriated with himself because of his obviousness, the blond would no doubt have followed these instructions at every point. But, he wanted to hang himself. Who else could see? Did everyone know? Was he the _last_ to know?

"Draco?" Terence called, waving and calming the crowd to pave a path to the man he'd acknowledged. Taking a seat across from Draco, Seamus excused himself with a snarky smirk back to the kitchens. "I absolutely love Isabelle. Such a feisty little girl."

"Moving a bit fast, aren't you? Do you have paperwork? Have you filled out the Adoptive Parents paperwork? Had your background checked? Drug and other illness exams? Mental evaluations?"

"Relax," the olive skinned man breathed, placing a hand over Draco's twined appendages. "I've done every last bit in private. Everything is clean and I can have it owled to you by this Monday."

"And a spouse? Significant other? You don't want to consult them first?" The younger tried not to sound too curious. Terence seemed practiced with this type of questioning and returned with beaming white teeth. The gesture forcing Draco's stomach to flip again.

"None to mention. It's just me." That smile warmed and the hand stayed very much in place over Draco's. Face heating up, the blond removed his hands with a cross between an embarrassed and apologetic smirk. "You know, I don't want to sound as though I'm hitting on you, what with all the publicity talking about my 'coming out'. Oh, not to say that you're not attractive, you're very fit. I just, well—I really went and muddled that up haven't I?"

The man was cute. Like a poster boy for a teenaged girl's fantasy. And he was _flirting_? With _Draco? _While Draco continued to look like absolute shit.

"No. You haven't muddled it up."

_Again with those bloody perfect teeth. _"Great. I was hoping maybe to speak privately with you about the process and the charity. Over dinner some time."

Understanding the subtle proposition, Draco felt the need to warn this man and check his back for a sign that may say, 'I'm gay. Come date me.' "I have a daughter, you know."

"I do read the paper every now and again when something catches my eye. So, who better to talk to about adoption with? I can't make one myself. I'd like to possibly leave the sport for a while. Do something productive for someone else." His eyebrows rose and his lips pouted. Again, he was versed in seducing. "Please?" Long black eye lashes batted open and closed rapidly, the pout still strong and evident.

_Where the piss did he come from? And why am I suddenly a target for single gay men?_

With an exasperated and overly dramatic sigh, Draco waved his hand in the air and shrugged. "Sure."

His smile was extraordinarily ecstatic in this instance and the blond could only look away from its shine to keep from smiling contagiously. Of course, half of his mouth ignored his inner plea to remain indifferent and lifted in the left corner.

"I'll owl you a time and place—also the tickets to the next game." Extending his hand to the inwardly flustered owner, the latter grasped and let his mouth fall as his own hand was brought to this devilishly, smooth Seeker's lips. With a playful grin, the man released Draco and strutted towards the doors, hugging onto Isabelle, patting a few heads and leaving.

"So what do you think?" Seamus unexpectedly asked, causing Draco to jump only far enough to have his heart bounce off his chest and back again. "Is he as _dreamy_ as Harry?" The married man rested his chin on his fist, looked to the ceiling wistfully, and exhaled a femininely high breath.

"Shut-up, you. And whoever said he was dreamy?" _Either for that matter._

"I'm sure you make goo-goo eyes at everyone. Not very likely considering you're a rather large prick most of the time."

"Remind me again why I don't fire you," Draco insisted.

"Because no one wants to deal with Pansy's wrath."

There was no argument even remotely capable of proving that statement wrong. "Touché."

"Really, though. Are we getting free tickets to a Magpie game?"

* * *

><p>Her feet and thumbs twitched in some sort of chaotic fashion while she glanced at the watch on her wrist.<p>

_Two minutes._

Heart and mind racing towards every possibility, Hermione called over the waitress for water and a breadbasket. Something needed to occupy her hands immediately before they lost it and ran away.

"Here you are, miss. Care for anything else?" The woman was plump with rosy cheeks and curled hair; she was examining the younger very closely with a sympathetic gleam in her eye. "How about something a bit stronger than the water, dear?"

The witch must have looked utterly tense as she nodded thankfully. In a moment, a shot of firewhiskey sat in front of her. The warmth served as a wonderful distraction and not counting herself too heavy a drinker, she felt the numbing almost immediately.

"Mione?" a memorised voice called from over her shoulder. Rising to her feet, Hermione greeted the witch in a firm hug, the alcohol overcoming her fears for her.

Ginny looked stunning. Not that she hadn't been pretty before, but she was so childlike for most of her life. Now, fully grown, she was a woman. Her once long, straight, bright-red hair was now cut in layers around her face, curled delicately to the middle of her back. Instead of her normal jeans and possibly formfitting top, she bore an olive green sheath dress that capped her shoulders and ended at her knees. Her makeup looked polished as opposed to thrown on. In a word, Ginny was beautiful.

"Oh, you looked breath-taking, Gin!" Hermione shouted in her small stupor. For a brief thought, the engaged felt underdressed in her jeans and cardigan. "Sit. We have so much to catch up on."

"I'm surprised you called, actually. And congratulations about the wedding. I know it's been set for ages, but now that it's finally set in stone, I'm relieved."

"Well, I wanted to ask you something rather important."

Waiting politely, Ginny took a piece of bread and nibbled. Hermione released a shaky breath and braced herself.

"I'd like you to consider being my Maid of Honour." This mustn't have been the question the red-haired witch expected as she choked on the bread in her mouth, drowning the food with water and coughing to the point of tears. "Oh, I mean, you don't have to!"

She held up one hand and finished her coughing fit, pounding a fist into her chest to move the lodged bread.

"No, no. It isn't that. I'm just surprised is all." Her voice was incredibly dry and crackled. "I didn't think you'd want me in that position after everything that happened."

"That was years ago, Gin. Harry's fine. I talked to him and he actually suggested you." Apparently this was the wrong thing to say again. Ginny's face darkened in some form of hostility and her shoulders tensed significantly. "Wow. I'm really doing well today."

"How is Harry?" Ginny whispered, not looking up from the water glass she was running her finger on the rim of. "I've done some reading. He looks well."

"He is. Doing a bit of charity work with Draco's foundation before he goes back home."

"He won't be staying?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not as far as I know. I think he'll come around more often, but he likes where he is. No hustle and bustle of the camera there." _But, that could change._

"I am sorry for it, you know. I felt wretched afterwards. There's no excuse for my actions and it was brave of Harry to be himself. I shouldn't have forced him to go out to the public like I had. Can't go back now though, eh?"

"Harry really is fine, Gin. He's not at all angry with you. You both did what you had to do and there's no changing it."

Looking at the half-eaten bread, Ginny nodded. "You're right." She paused and threw some hair over her shoulder. "And of course I'll be your Maid of Honor. Wouldn't turn it down for the world."

_Oh, thank Merlin for that. I don't know another girl._

The engaged witch hoped with all of her might that Harry was entirely over the fiasco of four years past. That wizard was the second most important man in her life. Ginny didn't compare in the least to the Hero, and if she was making the wrong decision, not only would it torture her, it would kill her.

"I can't say I wasn't a bit worried. It's a relief, really. We'll have to get you fitted for a dress very soon. I wish I could just throw you up there with me in the dress you have now; it's stunning. Truly." The redhead blushed appreciatively and Hermione bit off a piece of bread as well. The previous alcohol not sitting well in her stomach. "Are you staying at the Burrow, or somewhere else?"

"I'm staying with Luna and George, actually. Seeing Mum tomorrow, so that should be an adventure. Or a complete disaster."

Sharing the laugh with a lost friend, Hermione adjusted more comfortably in her chair.

_Perhaps this won't be as terrible as I feared._

* * *

><p><em>Draco,<em>

_Enclosed is a pass for your __centre__. Coming as a group will be just fine. We'll have a section set for you on the first level and you'll simply have to attend as well__—__to assure that the group is entirely yours._

_As for dinner, how do you feel about Italian? In Italy? I know a great place._

_I hope that__ Sunday evening is agreeable. It's the only night I won't have practice._

_I look forward to hearing from you,_  
><em>Terence<em>

_Ps: I suppose you don't have to attend the game. It's more of a personal request. It'll give me someone to show-off for._

The blond read over the note at least thirteen times, witnessing that perfect smile growing wider and wider after each new word. Feeling his gleeful whimsy slowly and painfully falling away.

Should everything be so complicated? Spending nearly his entire life without possibility of a romantic future and here were two paths at once. Of course, one was not nearly as sentimental as its counter could potentially be. And was it the right time to come out about his sexuality? Draco was certain and clearly gay. What did a person do? Call a paper?

Suddenly, the Quibbler came to mind, along with Harry, but when hadn't that been happening recently? The Quibbler would print his story verbatim. And couldn't very well pursue a date with this star Quidditch player if the public presumed him straight.

Although, with Seamus' reaction, it seemed like the entire world knew differently.

To be sure, though, the Malfoy heir would present his side. Tomorrow, before meeting Harry for—

_Would Harry mind if he saw Terence?_

Of course not. That would be selfish of Harry to think that a month of his company was worth sabotaging a possibly functioning relationship. The Hero was anything but selfish.

_Terrence needn't know about our deal either._

With an uncomfortable and tremor-laced snigger, Draco wrote—_See you Sunday._

Really, what could go wrong?


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

Lost in the difference between natural hangover draughts and organic, Harry flinched violently in the direction of the tapping on his left shoulder. Both potions flew randomly from his hands and smashed a stain into both a wall and carpet.

Behind him stood an equally startled Draco Malfoy, holding his nose, which must have been within an inch of its life by Harry's flailing. The blond blinked rapidly and eventually left his nose unprotected while the Hero bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have snuck up on me like that. How did you even know I was here? We were supposed to meet," he looked down at his watch and murmured something that sounded close to math, "About an hour and a half ago."

"Glad to see you were concerned. And I have a tracker on you." Caught in the same dazed state, as Draco had been, the blond quickly ended the jibe. "That was a poor attempt at a joke. But, your memory must be dreadful if you can't recall telling the owner of that shop to tell me where you've gone if I came by."

"Got a bit side-tracked in here. Did you know there's a difference between organic and natural hangover draught? I can't figure it out, but the organic is about twice as expensive. It stains the same colour, it seems," he said, gesturing to the wetness on the ground and wall around him. "And really, if you're not paying for the stain colour, what are you paying for?"

"You're talking a lot. What do you need hangover draught for?"

"I gave the last of mine to Molly and I have this sneaking suspicion that I'm going to need more very soon. I'm shit at brewing my own, so now I'm deciding which will work better: natural or organic."

Reaching around Harry, Draco took hold of the bottle and began to read and mouth the ingredients. "You know this doesn't work the same for everyone, right? Take height, weight, and amount into account and you'd need a different potion each time you drank. What are your measurements?"

"I believe I'm about six feet and an inch. One hundred and eighty pounds?"

"Well, assuming you won't change in height or weight, the real bother is condensing enough time into the potion to counteract the amount of alcohol consumed." Harry's eyes were darkening and a twisted grin played on his lips. Reaching out, the man began to fiddle with the hem of Draco's grey jumper, pulling the man closer after scanning the room for any sign of life. "What're you doing, Potter?" Draco hissed into Harry's air—they were barely a breath away from the other—the tips of their noses touching.

"Is it strange that your whole potion's master talk gets me a bit excited?" he growled as seductively as he could manage and still keep his heart well within his chest and his voice out of earshot.

"I really hope that isn't a fond nostalgia of Severus," Draco teased, licking his suddenly dry lips and unconsciously gazing at and leaning into Harry's full pout. _It hasn't been two days and you've got a date tomorrow. And the paper__—__fuck, you forgot to show Harry Sunday's print._

Pushing the raven-haired man aside, along with his own foreign hunger, Draco tried to maintain—with quite an effort—at least a foot of space between their bodies.

"You really know how to kill a mood," Harry huffed, turning back to his potions.

"Don't bother with that. I'll make you some myself."

The green-eyed wizard shrugged with his back facing the blond. The muscles moving in his back were distracting Draco from beneath the form fitting green thermal Harry chose to wear. After a long enough moment of tense silence, the former Slytherin felt more than knew that he had said something wrong.

Having an inch or so over the Saviour, Draco took an unheard step behind the offended and glanced around quickly to ensure their privacy. Bending his head to an open patch of skin, Draco swiped his tongue and blew cold air onto the spot, the act causing Harry to shiver and whimper. Chuckling at the man's reaction, the blond leaned away and the former Gryffindor followed comically, tripping slightly and bumping right into Draco's chest. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the blond was able to collect Harry around the stomach. Unable to ignore the muscle twitching beneath his hand, Draco barely contained himself from tickling the spot beneath that damn shirt.

"Falling for me already?" he laughed, releasing the man to stand on his own two feet. "I didn't mean to upset you. We're just in public is all. I want to be careful."

"So, it's all right for you to grope me from behind in public, but I'm not supposed to?"

"I'm much cleverer than you, Harry. You'll get us caught." The haughty smirk was returning with vigour.

The former Gryffindor's eyebrow rose thoughtfully. "I suppose I don't mind you being a bit forceful." Leaning into the blond, a snarl escaped with a hot breath over his ear. "As long as you don't mind me returning the favour." He emphasized the point with a sharp bite to Draco's lobe, pulling back immediately as to not overstep the boundaries Draco was setting. "Although, I have to admit, I might miss that innocent little charade you were putting on."

"Innocent charade?"

"You act like _that _and expect me to believe you're not at least moderately practiced? I've seen my share of ignorance, Draco. And I can guarantee that you know more than you've led on."

Draco pursed his lips in mock defiance. "Ever occur to you, _Chosen One, _that perhaps I've just figured out how to get under your skin?" _I won't have a clue what to say to Terence tomorrow._

"If anyone else called me 'Chosen One,' I'd most likely hex their bollocks off."

"What makes me special?" the blond wondered aloud, feeling an odd bubble of pride welling up inside of him.

Harry looked up and to the left, his pink tongue peeking out of his mouth in contemplation.

"I think it might be your arse." With a punch to his lower abdomen, the brunet quickly revised. "Joking, prat. I don't know. It just sounds different coming from you. More like an ironic pet name. You're not actually expecting me to save someone."

"No, but I expect that hero's complex to force you to try. However, you'd most likely fuck it up. Sheer luck kept you alive. And Hermione. I give no credit to Ron." It was too natural to keep a superior air about him when discussing a Weasley. Not matter how philanthropic he became, he'd never come to honestly appreciate the red-haired clan.

The former Gryffindor laughed. "Like I said, anyone else."

"What exactly do you need the draught for?" Draco asked as the pair left the Apothecary. "Finally deciding that adopted family of yours is only suitable while intoxicated?"

A stern glare from the Man Who Lived revised his previous statement. Stuffing his hands into back pockets, he remembered—as he was so frequently forgetting—the drafted future Sunday issue of the Quibbler. Not the whole issue. One article.

"I don't think you'll want to hear about it." Passing two gawking shoppers, Harry lowered his voice. "Charlie and I fought for most of the morning yesterday about this man I'll be seeing."

"And by fought, you mean verbally, right?" Picturing the raven-haired knight on his white steed, defending the downtrodden and misunderstood Draco Malfoy against the evil Charlie Weasley created a funny fluttering in the blond's stomach. A feeling he would consult later with a Hufflepuff. Until then, he'd claim temporary mental illness.

_Or, overall mental instability._

"Yes, verbally. We weren't trading curses or anything. Sorry if that shatters the illusion."

_How did he…?_

"Anyway, Charlie's a bit jealous. Doesn't like you to begin with. Well, doesn't like your father. I don't see a reason to let him dictate my life considering he hasn't been in it for years. Ran away from me." Harry sighed heavily. "He doesn't have the right to claim anything. He left well before I did."

Was there possibly a hint of disappointment marring his normally upbeat tone? Not that Draco was one to feel self-conscious in comparison to the other formerly pure blood family. If even for a moment he felt relatively shy in comparison, it should only be to the countless strangers Harry had bedded. _Not _the sloppy one night stand with _Charlie Weasley. _To feel inferior towards that particular redhead in any case felt absurdly ludicrous. So absurd, in fact, that Draco laughed aloud, earning him an odd quirking of his partner's brow.

"I guess it's sort-of funny," Harry mumbled as Draco blushed, glad that the laugh was almost appropriate. "I mean, why _should _he be jealous of you? It isn't as if we're public knowledge. _You're _not even public knowledge."

"As of tomorrow I will be," he inserted flippantly, pulling the parchment from his back pocket and handing it to the awed man walking beside him. "Before you get any ideas, this isn't some proposition of an exclusive relationship."

Chuckling heartily, "Wouldn't dream of it, Malfoy. An exclusive interview with the Quibbler? I'm sure Mr Lovegood was stunned." Skimming through the interview and muttering some of the words to himself, Draco expected a more tragic reaction. Some extreme upset in his honesty. He received nothing like it. Harry was politely interested. Hm-ing and ah-ing at the appropriate times. Upon reaching the end though, the already out man returned the article to Draco with a satisfied smile. "You're sure about all this?

"Eh. I'm not really sure about anything. But, I shouldn't have to hide who I am." _Some parts should just stay quiet._

"Good man. So, what do you plan on doing with your newfound freedom?" There was a miniscule amount of suggestion in his innocent question, but Draco rightfully ignored it. "Aside from be seen in public with me."

Coming upon an antique shop, the pair entered and Harry immediately picked up an old Snitch, thoughtfully rolling it between his fingers. Its magic long gone.

"Do you still play?" he asked Draco, not taking his eyes from the dull, golden ball.

The blond shook his head. "I haven't played since fifth year. I'm sure you've been on break as well, youngest Seeker in some substantial amount of years or history. Whichever's correct."

Harry's laugh was hollow and sadly reflective. Draco could clearly see that he missed the sport. For whatever reason, the former Slytherin knew and understood. There was something about the chase. Something that called to him, and Harry evidently.

"I miss it. I was good at it instead of being born for it. Sounds arrogant, but I actually had a skill for it. And I let it go because of a few cameras."

"And a Dark Lord," Draco tried to lighten. It worked. Harry allowed half of his mouth to lift.

"That too."

"Why don't you play again? No one's stopping you. I'm sure you could get onto any team you wish."

"Because of my name." The Hero hadn't asked, but it was a question. He needed reassurance. He needed something apart from fate that he was good at. Something apart from the celebrity light.

"Because of your skill, Harry. If I hadn't played, you may never have been challenged. And, don't worry. I didn't let you win every time. Just most of the time."

The two men searched through random items in silence. Harry, with a longing air about him, and Draco wondering when he'd begun to understand the Hero so well. From the time Draco could understand his father, Harry had been this unknown vision. A _boy. _A boy who beat the strongest and most deadly of all Dark Lords. This entirely good, orphan _saviour__._

The blond knew Harry James Potter well before they had actually met. If the Boy Who Lived were a subject, Draco could have been considered the most well read and well-studied of pupils.

No, not to the point of obsession. If anyone seemed deranged in his interest, it would have to be his father. The older Malfoy devoted his life to Harry, whether he realized it or not. Of course, he'd never admit to himself or anyone that the blessing to Gryffindor was just that—a blessing. The orphan was a twit of a child with no sense of what was truly important.

Did Draco ever honestly believe this?

Perhaps he considered believing his father openly after the same boy rejected him. Before, however, Harry was a fairy-tale. The good guy won, as he should have. Jealousy and bitter disagreement with Harry intensified his belief in the wrong sort. How dare this brainless child tell him what he did or did not know?

What did he know?

_Everything._

"What about this?" Harry suddenly announced, holding a large container with some archaic writing decorating its sides. "It looks ancient. Hermione loves cultural relics. And you don't really like Ron anyway."

"I'm not giving them a box for their wedding. Come on, Harry. Don't make me regret inviting you. I thought you'd know _anything _about them."

"Well, unless you want to buy a library in Hermione's name, or a chocolate frog factory for Ron, that's really all they would ever want." Pausing to consider that possibility, Harry studied the blond. "How many libraries do you own?"

"Thirteen," Draco said immediately, turning an old cookbook in his hand and blowing the dust from its cover. "Should I give her one? Seems kind of cheap."

Slapping himself with his own palm, Harry struggled to maintain composure. "_Of course_ that would be a perfect gift. She'll need a place to escape Ron when they're arguing. Do you have anything out of the country?"

"I have a library in France? Do you suppose that's far enough away? Where will they be living after they're married anyway? Please tell me they're not staying at the Weasley Farm. That's not conducive to any sort of positive outcome."

"Hopefully, they like my gift enough to stay in it." Raising a brow in question, Harry elaborated. "I'm giving them Grimmauld Place."

"You're giving them a shithole?" Catching his words after they'd already left his mouth, Draco was nearly mimicking Harry's previous action of smacking himself. "I meant to say, that I've seen the house and isn't it a bit dreary for a new couple?"

"For starters, that was quite a late save." The blond blushed in disgrace. "Secondly, they're not a new couple by any stretch of the imagination and lastly, it's not a shithole."

"Well, I guess it's not terrible, just haunted and basically a living thing."

"Not anymore," Harry responded proudly, his chest puffing outwards. "I've been de-funking it since after the war. A side project."

"How did you manage that in hiding?"

"Kreacher. Made him swear not to discuss the matter. Unless it was with me alone. He's wonderful at loopholes, so that was tricky business, but we managed. It looks incredible. Surely I'm biased, but it's remarkable."

"I'll have to take your word for it." The idea of Kreacher readily taking orders from Harry was supremely entertaining indeed. Must've taken months to settle the deal and almost the entirety of his absence to complete the project.

"Would you like to see it?"

"What about the gift?"

Exasperated, Harry pinched the bridge between his nose and removed his glasses to clean them with the bottom of his shirt. "I thought we decided you would give them one of your libraries."

"I still think that's such a cheap way of going about this. It's like a hand-me-down."

"Hermione will love it," Harry sang, his voice raising an octave higher than his usual tenor. Whether from the sweetness of the sound or the none-too compelling argument, Draco shrugged in agreement. "Glad that's settled. So, would you like to see the place or not? I can make dinner."

"That seems to be routine. How about I make dinner? Surely I can do a bit better than a half blood like you." Not a touch of bitter resentment stained the harmless jibe.

"Suit yourself, and I was going to make an amazing macaroni and cheese casserole. But, it's your call, boss."

Exiting the antique shop, Draco held out his hand, the brunet took the offered quickly with a smile and the pair apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

><p>Landing outside and nearly tripping off the top step, Harry grabbed hold of Draco's jumper and pulled him to his chest to prevent the blond from tumbling onto the concrete.<p>

"Sorry about the landing. The three of us used to have to appear on the first step to keep from being seen by Death Eaters guarding the place."

Not that Draco minded being so close. Still, to maintain maximum coldness, the blond huffed and separated himself. Harry opened the door and an unexpected vision proceeded.

The walls were a mint green with a tan base, almost a blue in the combination. Photos decorated every available countertop. Some of the couple, some of Teddy and Harry. A few of Dumbledore. Harry's parents. The place was bright with life and colour. Even Kreacher, who greeted the wizards immediately, seemed almost amused as opposed to simply devastated.

"Master Potter wants dinner prepared?" Noticing Draco, the elf nearly burst into tears. "Oh, Master Malfoy! Far too good of you to come visit Kreacher! Please, please, what can Kreacher make for you?"

"Thank-you, Kreacher. But, I'll be making dinner for this evening. You're off the hook for tonight."

This time, the elf did begin to cry. "What happened to you?"

With a harsh _crack, _the elf disappeared.

"He hates kindness. I think it's hilarious," Harry commented before suddenly gripping the blond's shoulders and pushing his back against the door. Within a moment, the Saviour was choking the poor man in a desperate kiss. Hands picked at the hem of Draco's top and greedily scratched beneath it, earning a hiss from the blond who broke the kiss to gasp in torrents of needed air.

Harry hadn't needed much recovery time as he moved to the captive wizard's jaw, alternating between sucking and licking a reddening spot. Those hands still raking and now coming to grope and tickle Draco's lower back. The sensation causing a reflexive bucking into the Man Who Lived.

_Oh, Gods. __What was that?_

Harry groaned at the gesture and Draco took the opportunity to let his hands roam into the rugged mane that was the Hero's hair.

"_Fuck _is that _soft_," Draco murmured. The brunet chuckled against the former Slytherin's neck and dipped his hands a bit further, taking the globes of the blond's arse and pulling Draco's hips to meet Harry's brutally. With a hungry growl, the raven-haired man bit into the tender flesh—beneath Draco's ear—his hardness intensifying.

Never having the mirrored feeling before, the blond felt a rush of forbidden confusion sweep over him. It was as if he were pleasuring himself. The same parts, the same desires—the same beastly _need _for _raw ravishing._

"Fuck, _Draco,"_ Harry moaned, the sound of his name spilling so lustfully over the precious Boy Wonder's lips was enticing in its plainest form. The sound was utterly erotic and full of promise. "Touch me," he breathed.

"I am touching you, prat," Draco complained whilst Harry ruined the silence.

Grabbing the man's hand from his hair and forcing it to his clothed erection, the blond understood and stilled—unsure of how to proceed. Luckily, Harry placed his own hand over Draco's member and palmed the bulge slowly, coaxing the other to follow in turn.

Connecting lips again, the men panted into each other's mouths, every now and again able to plant a sloppy kiss to a part of the face or a bite to an unlucky lip hard enough to draw blood. There was something about the frenzied need and hurried touches. Something about being in a house that they needn't hide in. A place where cameras didn't exist and passion could bloom in full.

The feeling made Draco quite dizzy.

With an unexpected cry, the blond felt a wetness on his hand as he touched Harry's softening member. The feeling and sound carried Draco to his own brink and he came with a shout that could have been Harry's name. Or some unintelligible nonsense.

Neither man would ever know as they each rode through their tidal wave of pleasure.

"Wow," Harry interrupted the silence again after resting against Draco's shoulder.

"Articulate as ever, Potter," Draco agreed, not finding the strength to roll his eyes properly.

"I don't usually get off so fast with an inexperienced clothed hand-job."

"You really can ruin sex," Draco observed, pushing the brunet adroitly away and looking for the kitchen, only now realizing that he hadn't seen an inch of the house because of the previous activities. And on that rather disturbing note, he cast a cleaning charm over his pants and a quick scourgify over his shoulder at the man behind him.

"Sorry, it's just weird," Harry tried to recover uselessly. "I think all those years of pent-up aggression must've done it. Imagine what it'll be like when we fuck."

"Gods, Potter. Have some couth!"

"Imagine what it'll be like when I gently plough you into the mattress?" he attempted again.

Draco just barely stifled a laugh. "That's better. And who says I'll bottom? I'm obviously an alpha in this scenario."

"Says the boy who was just hand-fucked into the door," Harry pronounced haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. "And the kitchen's over there, _dear,_" he emphasized.

Immediately, Draco regretted offering his culinary services. "Careful, Potter. _You _may not poison food, but I reserve the right to any and all means of pulverising you."

"Careful, _Draco," _the Hero called from another room. "Remembering bits of conversations we've had and quoting them back to me _can _be deemed wildly sympathetic."

"What curses do you prefer?"

"Only the fatal."

Smirking to himself, Draco washed his hands. The witty banter always settled nausea in his stomach. But, where was the sickness stemming from? It felt _good. _Didn't it? So what if it had been years since someone else was responsible for a gripping orgasm, so what if this was the first time he'd ever experienced pleasure from another man.

So what if that man was Harry James Saviour of the Wizarding World Potter.

What did that _matter?_

By the tone of the whistling in the next room, the cheeky bastard sure as hell didn't feel an ounce of the confusion coursing through Draco.

_Friends with benefits. Friends is a relative term, but unattached. No rules. No feelings._

What feelings could there be? He hardly knew this Harry. Physically, yes, Draco was infatuated. But, who wouldn't be? Male or female? Harry was sublimely attractive—all muscle with the absolute thinnest layer of fat. Perfectly mussed hair without any effort. An attitude that could probably charm a horse into drinking water. And a fucking sex-ridden voice that sent tingles to a particularly ignored piece of the blond's anatomy.

Emotionally, though. Harry was a prick, when he wasn't trying otherwise. He knew each of Draco's buttons and how to push them. He was hot-headed, stubborn, pushy, ignorant, immature, a potty mouth, embarrassing, naïve, and so … _Gryffindor_.

Lost in decoding his inner turmoil, a pair of arms snuck around his waist and a heavy head settled on his shoulder. Draco momentarily stilled until a pair of lips attached themselves to his neck—right beneath his ear—a spot he was coming to find to be a rather violent erogenous zone. The pressure intensified and a moan escaped the former Slytherin's throat as teeth raked over his sensitive and now overheated skin.

"We can order out," Harry purred. _When the piss did he learn to do that? _Having thrown coherent thought aside, Draco was utterly surprised at the hardness pressing to his backside and even more astounded by his own stamina.

"Are you always this insatiable?" Draco wondered and congratulated himself for formulating an impressive sentence with that magnificent tongue dancing over his trapezius muscle. Where he'd learn the name of that muscle, he couldn't remember. He cursed the jumper protecting the rest of his shoulder from attention. Fortunately, Harry must've felt the same. For in a moment, the jumper disappeared from Draco's back and the brunet was manually removing his cotton t-shirt—his nails leaving light red trails in their wake over the sides of the blond's abdomen.

"_Always,"_ Harry hissed, the snake-like sound stirring Draco further into arousal.

"Can you still speak parseltongue, Harry?"

A sensual line of snake-speak answered that question quickly and dissuaded any argument against Draco reacting like a pool of hormones from that voice.

"Oh, fuck. _Harry," _he groaned, egging the brunet onward to nipping at his shoulder blade, a place on Draco's body that he wouldn't have dreamed to be a delicate bit of flesh. The roaming hands began to reach upwards again as the blond leaned into his touch and the tips of Harry's fingers brushed ever-so lightly over the hardening buds of his nipples. The sudden contact forced Draco to startle, and having forgotten the ovens were lit, the blond burned his hand in desperate attempts to regain himself.

Jumping backwards vigorously caused the pair to stumble together in a twist of limbs and clumsy fumbling until Harry's back hit the edge of a countertop and stopped the two from ending the little affair in bruises. A shouted _ouch _from against Draco repaired his original thought with the slight correction of perhaps _one_ bruise.

Now facing each other with only a small height difference, Harry and Draco were nose to nose. Humoured grins graced each mouth until a pained expression tainted the blond's. He laid the back of his burnt hand atop of Harry's still clothed chest and winced.

The Hero, as to be expected, gingerly took hold of the hand and waved his own over the wound. Wandlessly spelling its recovery. Pressing a kiss to the healed spot, Harry smiled and pressed just one more chaste kiss to Draco's mouth.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," the brunet whispered.

_I didn't mean to hurt you._

_I didn't mean to hurt you._

_I didn't mean to hurt you._

Draco's heart stilled in his chest and he backed away from the embrace awkwardly.

"I-I have t-to go," the blond stuttered and made leeway for the fireplace which he remembered from early visits in his childhood, took a handful of floo powder and held his breath as he reappeared in Malfoy Manor.

Grabbing hold of a vase decorating the hearth, Draco chucked the offensive glass against a bare wall. The smashing sound providing the noise necessary to sway the blond from homicide.

"I didn't mean to hurt her either," he whispered to himself and sunk to the floor, drowning himself in his own tears.

* * *

><p>Harry sat dejectedly amongst half the Weasley clan, Luna and Hermione around the dinner table, pushing his peas across his plate and pouting unbecomingly.<p>

"So, you molested him into burning his hand and he ran away from you? That's an abusive relationship, Harry. You can't blame a man for wanting a bit of self-preservation."

The Hero didn't answer. He hadn't done anything _wrong. _It wasn't the burn that caused Draco to flee.

_But, what was it?_

"Quit pestering him, George," Hermione chided, rubbing Harry's arm reassuringly. "Maybe it was just too fast for him. You can be a bit rushed when it comes to physical things. He's practically a virgin in this scenario. You need to take your time."

"We're not in some relationship, Herm," the brunet mumbled and pushed his plate aside.

"He's going out with that Quidditch player from school. Terence Higgs, I believe Daddy said his name was," Luna offered with a light air. "Tomorrow they have some sort of date scheduled."

"What're you talking about, Luna?" Harry asked, a bit of uncalled-for jealousy slipping between the syllables.

"That's why he's coming out tomorrow. He told Daddy not to put that bit in the issue."

"Draco's gay for not even a week and he's messing around with a war hero and Quidditch star? You can't write this shit, it's far too ridiculous," George mused with a hardy laugh.

"Is that strange for you, Harry?" Ron asked with a mouthful of mashed potatoes and sounding more like, _isshat shrange fer you, 'Arry?_

Fluent in Ron-speech, Harry understood and shrugged with mock indifference.

"Why should it matter?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed in the Savior's direction, however, she remained politely silent.

"Just watch yourself, Mate. You're making me a bit nervous."

"Why would he make you nervous?" Charlie finally contributed, darting his gaze from his brother and back to Harry.

"He looks like he might be falling a bit harder than he normally does. Am I right?"

Again, Harry only shrugged. "I'm leaving in a month. It doesn't matter if I ever see the man again."

The table settled into silence. The lack of noise as deafening as a foghorn.

"Sometimes, when brittleworms want to mate with sandfeatherbirds, Daddy says they need a good bit of time before their flaxnards can rightly mesh together. They can be a perfect fit sometimes, even if the brittleworm's spiked neck can mortally wound the sandfeatherbird's lip nugget."

George leaned over and kissed his wife on the temple. "Bless her heart, right? A bit of a dreamer, but so bloody cute."

"Luna, what does that mean?"

The pregnant woman smiled and tilted her head to the side while blinking dreamily at Harry.

"Whatever you think it means, Harry."

The question remained.

_What do I think it means?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

"You're trying to kill me," Narcissa decidedly concluded after reading over the headlines of the Quibbler. "What did I do, Draco? What could I have possible done?"

Draco opted not to respond, figuring that whatever blurted from his vocal chords wouldn't do any ounce of good in the least. Apparently, silence was the wrong answer as well, seeing as a sharp hand swiped the back of his head.

"What would you have me say? You already knew, so 'surprise' isn't in order. The truth is far better than some tabloid's lie, so I don't want to apologise. And a very important Quidditch player would like to take me out and I doubt he would have wanted to sleaze around because of my ridiculous fear."

"Like you're doing with Potter?" she challenged pretentiously with one eyebrow high in contention.

_Oh, Merlin's sack. Really?_

"Did you think I wouldn't notice, Draco? Who do you believe you inherited that sense of intellect from? It certainly wasn't your father. I see _ev-er-y-thing_." Each syllable was carefully pronounced in a hiss that would have made the young blond shudder if he hadn't practiced masking the not so absurd fear of his mother.

Draco vanished his empty coffee cup to make ready his hands. He didn't necessarily think that his mother would go berserk and begin throwing hexes as easily as say, a thousand cotton balls, but he had the tiniest inkling he may need to defend himself physically in the very near future.

"Well, secret's out I suppose. Does it honestly matter what I do with Potter as long as it doesn't make the papers?" _And he doesn't ever remind me of _her_ again._

"Of course it matters, _Draco_. It matters a great deal, _Draco_. We can't risk your reputation anymore, _Draco_." _Say my name. One. More. Bloody. Time. _Luckily, her warnings were through before the blinding headache crept to the man's temple. The pounding was louder than his aggravated and irregular heartbeat. "_Je ne peux pas le faire. Je ne vais pas le faire de nouveau. Pourquoi ne peut-il jamais être facile_?"* Narcissa mumbled quickly. Draco could hardly understand the secondary monologue even though he was fluent himself. She hadn't resorted to French in such a long while that the wizard again felt the need to protect himself, gulping audibly and gripping his wand tightly.

"Mum, I swear I'm being careful. No one's getting hurt. Consider Harry as a tutor of sorts." Thinking far after speaking, Draco shouldn't have thought that idea would quench his mother's worry. "That's probably not reassuring in the least. Can't you simply understand how big a change this is for me? I'm gay. I haven't the slightest clue as to how to be gay. I didn't know how to pursue a woman and am even less capable of a man."

"The more attention you draw to yourself, the greater the chance of the public finding more about Karina, Draco. Did you think of that? If you're constantly being watched, they could see something."

"No. They won't," Draco gritted defiantly. "They won't because only you and I know." Pacing slowly to his mother, the younger wrapped his arms around her and felt her trembling. "She's none of their business. And the way I see it, the less I become involved romantically, the stranger I seem. The more… suspicious I seem." _Logical, from a psychotic man's standpoint. _"I want a career. I want a normal life. For fuck's sake. I'm so tired of being alone."

"You're not alone, honey."

"You know what I mean. I have the opportunity to really live. Give Karina two parents. Maybe not now, but this can be good for both of us. In the future. I want my daughter to have someone around if something should ever happen. She's already lost so much."

Draco could feel his mother nodding into him in agreement. She wasn't always made of stone. Narcissa acted this way to protect her only son and grandchild. In truth, she loved each unconditionally. Even Harry's existence hadn't really irked her any more than usual. He seemed to be bringing Draco out of himself; out of the cage he'd trapped himself in before the war. Before Hogwarts. Before he was born, Narcissa knew Draco hadn't a choice in his identity. Damn his father for making it so. Damn her for not having the courage to defy the deceased Malfoy.

Her granddaughter may have lost a mother, but did Draco ever have a mother or father? Draco lost a childhood. Draco had no intimate connection to anyone aside from Narcissa for most of his life—and she did quite a terrible job at that. He never felt love or loved by someone in a way that wasn't strictly platonic. Now, it seemed, he had the opportunity.

And the greying mother would disgust herself if she stood in his way.

No matter what the public found.

"So, where are you going out to?" she sniffled, only now feeling the sharp prickle left in her watering eyes' wake.

"Italy. For Italian," Draco laughed gently, patting his mother's brittle hair.

Lifting her face to beam warmly at her son, Narcissa sighed. "What is it with you Seekers and having to show off?"

* * *

><p>"You're actually sulking."<p>

"And you're reading the dictionary again," Harry retorted, staring unwaveringly at the very same spot of chipped paint on the kitchen's wall for a highly impressive thirteen minutes and twelve seconds.

Hermione bit back a laugh, not wanting any part in stimulating or encouraging Harry's actions. "Just because you use a fifteen word vocabulary doesn't mean the rest of us should walk around with our knuckles dragging across the floor."

"Me no want talk," the Hero mocked, his stare becoming more of a glare he would have gladly shot at the offensive witch, but he was nearly frightened that his neck may be permanently stuck in this position. "Can't I mope if I want?"

"If you were at least partly honest with me, I'd let you mope all day."

"Well, in that case, your hair looks like shit today and that's total honestly."

The crack to the back of his skull may have caused whiplash, but it at least succeeded in ceasing the incessant glare at an innocent wall.

"Shut the hell up and tell me what your malfunction is. If it doesn't begin with your jealousy, I don't want to hear it."

"Who says I'm jealous of that half-wit Terence? Let him fuck the life out of Draco, I couldn't give a shit less. It would be irrational otherwise," Harry pronounced carefully, convincing himself more so than he would ever admit to.

Hermione smiled her all knowing grin and not ashamed of it. "I never said anything about being jealous of Terence. _You _came up with that all on your own."

Harry scoffed, angry with himself for letting her cunning get the better of him and allowing his own narrow-mindedness to lose itself again.

"So, I'm jealous."

"Of what? If it's just a bit of fun, he's free to do as he pleases, don't you think? Especially if that comes with a famous Quidditch player."

"Fuck him! I'm the Chosen One for Merlin's sake. And the youngest Seeker of the century. I'll bet I can whoop his presumptuous ass any day of the week on the field." Immediately, said Chosen One regretted his rant. It couldn't be possible to sound more arrogant. "Sorry. It's just… different with him."

"And you have no intentions on telling him that this could mean something a bit more than sex?"

Dropping his head heavily onto the table top, Harry groaned- his speech muffled by the close proximity of his mouth to the table. "I'm only here for a month more."

"Unless you decide differently. You don't have to leave. There's nothing to run from anymore."

_There's always something to run from._

_*French*I can't do it. I won't do it. Why can't it ever be easy?_


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

Draco Malfoy had never been on a proper date he realised about thirty seconds into meeting Terence at _Un Luogo_. Understanding a small amount of Italian, he roughly translated the name to _A Place._

How clever.

What did one do on a date? Luckily, the pair was hardly noticed in Italy. Cameras weren't constantly flashing and there were no pesky reporters with self-write quills to interrupt conversation… not that there was any conversation to be had anyhow.

In fact, Draco was pleading for something uncomfortable to present itself so that he and his suitor would have something at least moderately meaningless to discuss. The weather certainly _was_ nice for how late in the year it was becoming. Draco certainly _did_ look handsome in his dark brown slacks and navy blue jumper. It very much _did_ bring out the blue flecks in his grey eyes. And the blond was _more than enthused_ for the upcoming Magpies game.

In theory.

Honestly, he wasn't at all concerned with the match. _Who were they playing? _He'd played Quidditch for his father. Sure, he could be accused of adoring besting someone in the chase, but the sport hadn't attracted him much farther than the challenge or the swift fleeting freedom of flying.

So, Draco outlined the rim of his glass of water, promising himself that he would _not _touch any alcohol this evening. Not that he partook in the substance often enough to know exactly how he would behave, but he didn't want to chance the possible outcome. The smile he plastered haphazardly to his face was uncommonly painful. This may have been the sixth time in the last twenty minutes where he needed to tell himself to cease his ridiculously false grinning.

"So, what's your favourite colour?" Draco wondered in the interest of maintaining a constant chatter.

"Already out of things to talk about, eh?" Terence chuckled, the sound and reality of the situation causing Draco to blush straight to his toes and probably farther than that. "It's purple, actually."

"Purple?" the blond repeated curiously. "Didn't expect that."

"It doesn't come up often. But, when I was younger, my mother used to wear this pendent. A purple diamond sat in its centre and I can somehow remember sitting in her lap, toying with the thing." The Seeker reached into his partially unbuttoned shirt and pulled out a lengthy chain with the described pendent attached. "Makes me think of her every time I see the colour. She died. Before the war. Her name was Meredith. She'd been sick since my younger sister was born, so it's no one's fault."

Pity stirred in the former Death Eater's heart for this man. He seemed so well kept. No one would suspect him to be in the process of healing as well.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Draco said with sincere understanding. "A terrible thing to have a loved one pass."

"I was kind of fishing for your life story with that bit of sharing. Feel free to decline, but I'd like to get to know you and change the subject before I get all weepy."

_Of course, Draco. That's what a relationship is about__ … __sharing. Set yourself up for that one, moron._

"I'm not much of an open book, Terence. Wouldn't have enough to fill a pamphlet anyway."

Terence caught the younger man's tapping hand in his own. "You fidget a lot. Nervous?"

"I was actually going for rugged and manly," he tried to kid, reminding himself not to scream over the pounding in his chest.

"That's quite alright, you know. You have quite a lovely blush when you're nervous."

Damn his alabaster skin for giving him away so easily. Draco could feel his palm begin to heat and sweat, wanting nothing more than to rip the embarrassing appendage from beneath Terence's grasp. Seeming to read the blond's thoughts, the Seeker held a bit tighter before letting go with the smallest, knowing, half-smile. Draco released the softest breath in relief, most likely flushing deeper than before.

"I haven't been on a date before," Draco confessed in a mumble, hoping Terence would hear something different.

"With a man?" Draco shook his head in response. "With anyone?" One nod signalled his answer. The less experienced glanced downward and let his fingers knot together. The silence could have lasted for a minute or a millennia. Either way, it was one of the longest moments Draco had recently been privy to.

"I didn't have much time at Hogwarts. The war wasn't much of a romantic time for me. After the war, countless trials and hearings. Then, Karina came along." The stifled shudder may have been noticeable if Draco hadn't been so practiced. "It wasn't on my list of priorities."

"I understand that. If it makes you feel any better, this is my first actual date with a man." And that had calmed the blond's ragged persona, even if only slightly. "I've been with a few men. How would I know if I were truly gay otherwise?"

"So, why did you decide to ask me on your first date?"

Terence shrugged and considered his answer. The millisecond before he was to begin, a stout waiter with a crooked nose and terrible Italian accent placed their meals on the table with an uncomfortable grin and trudged away.

"I like you. You were all over the papers recently. Not that that matters, but I remembered you from Hogwarts. My family knew yours. You seem to have a good heart and head. I've always wanted to adopt, probably because I always knew I was gay and couldn't have children otherwise. My brother-in-law actually told me about the fuss you were creating for the papers and I was just drawn to your program." It must've been a trade off in blushing, because a spark of colour trickled over Terence's cheeks. "And I'm attracted to you. Very much so."

"Thank-you?"

The brunet laughed airily. "Let's eat before the food cools. I still have another stop for the evening."

Draco welcomed the requested dead space of chewing, sipping, and simple quiet that eating allotted.

Of course, he hadn't accounted for his nerves filling a majority of his stomach. The constant threat of vomiting didn't allow him to go farther than nibbling his pasta primavera.

"Finished?" Terence asked politely after signing the bill. "I'm really only saving your meal from being pushed around the plate any longer."

"It looked like it needed a workout," Draco retorted naturally.

The restaurant sat outside near a quiet street. The pair exited the establishment and fell into step slowly down the cobbled sidewalk. It must've been later than Draco originally thought because the sun was setting gently in the far distance. A hand took hold of his own and interlaced with his own fingers. The blond looked at his now full hand and up towards Terence's face, which was showing the makings of a broad smile. His eyes kept forward though, leading the pair to what looked to be a pond, decorated with pinkish swans—discoloured by the hue of the setting sun. A fantastically twisted bench made of some sort of thick vine sat lonely at the pond's edge. Terence gestured for Draco to sit on the oddly shaped seat and he found it far more comfortable than its appearance led on. Still, he would not let the blond's hand slip.

For countless moments, the two men enjoyed the sight of the growing darkness, leading to an abundance of fireflies glittering in the night air.

"Before I joined the Magpies," the brunet pronounced, "I used to come here with my sister. She loved the swans. They stay through the winter every year. And I always wondered how they managed. We used to talk about life after Mum. You see, we knew she would pass. We knew one day we would wake up and she wouldn't. But, why could these birds survive when our mother couldn't?" Draco squeezed reflexively and Terence turned to face him. "I guess there are some kinds of magic I won't understand."

"I'm sure your mother was lovely," the blond remarked unknowingly.

"She was a right bitch, actually. Mean to all of our friends. Cussed like some veteran sailor. Hated pets. Dreadful company indeed. But, she was my mother. I loved her all the same. She loved us too. Sometimes I think that's all that ever really mattered."

Draco didn't respond. What more needed said? So, he agreed wordlessly, following a lightning bug on his path over the pond and eventual rest on an immobile lily pad. The light contact nudged the pad further from the pair, giving Draco something larger to focus on as the pressure in his hand moved.

Terence stood and rotated to face Draco. Dozens of lights created a dim glow around the circumference of the pool and outlined the important contours of the Seeker's face. His half-grin was nervous as he offered his hand again. The blond quirked an eyebrow, taking the hand and hearing a faint sound of music dust across the scarcely lit scene.

Clearing his throat, the older wizard hoisted Draco to his feet, leaving less than a foot of space between them. "Dance with me."

It wasn't a request, but it was hardly a command either. The blond could disincline to acquiesce to his request if he so chose to.

"How cliché," Draco jibed, however, when another hand sat snugly against the lower of his back, he did not push the extremity away. In fact, he settled farther into the loose embrace.

The wizards rocked from one foot to the next in a steady circle. Terence, just about the same height as the Malfoy heir, allowed his head to lull into the crook of Draco's neck. His hot breath tickled the blond's ever-sensitive skin and he shivered unconsciously from reasons arguably separate from the minor nip in the air.

"Draco?"

"Hm?" he responded intelligently, growing comfortable in the easy step.

"Are you and Potter _together_?"

"We work together," Draco absentmindedly enlightened.

"I meant romantically."

"Honestly …" Honestly what? As of yesterday, they were—something? Weren't they? And if the answer to this question is _yes, _well, did that ruin Draco's opportunity for anything with Terence?

Inhaling deeply, the blond parted a few inches to study the brunet's eyes. They were guarded, but revealing the smallest hint of self-conscious doubt. Placing a small peck to the man's cheek, Draco reeled back and smiled.

"Honestly, we're not together romantically."

The smile returned ten-fold. A pair of strong, defined arms wrapped themselves about the blond's waist and held on tightly.

These arms were slightly different from Harry's. They were a bit more careful and protective. The chest pressed against his was broad from countless hours of training. That wasn't to say Harry hadn't taken care of himself, however, Terence was harder in muscle. _Only _muscle. The Saviour's hands wandered while the Seeker's stayed firmly planted.

But, did that make the new feeling _wrong_? Harry promised that their relationship wasn't a relationship to begin with, so how _could_ this be wrong? How _could_ looking for someone stable, someone Harry said he needed, be wrong?

A small ringing began in Draco's ears. Like a nearly unpleasant high-pitched chime.

"Good. I'd hate to think myself a home-wrecker."

If he was sure of anything, the Malfoy heir was certain what he had with Harry couldn't be considered a _home._


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

It'd been five days since Harry had had any contact with Draco- and the end of that rendezvous was hardly desirable in the least. In the years in which he'd considered himself to be sexually active, never had he forced a partner to run away in tears.

_Fucking brilliant as per usual._

Assisting in wedding detail certainly wasn't helping Harry's dilemma either. The closer the day came, the more Hermione and Ron seemed to fall in love. The hero couldn't make heads or tails of it. How could two people who have known each other for over half a lifetime still find_ more__? _Love seemed utterly exhausting and dangerous. To open oneself to something so terrifying seemed counterproductive in self-preservation. Painful even, if not handled with care.

"Hello, Harry," Luna smiled, interrupting his inner turmoil along with the wind's chorus and crackling leaves. "Lovely weather today, isn't it?"

"Very much so, Luna. Yeah," he humoured, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Going to Draco's today? It's Thursday after all." Knowing this was nowhere near a jibe at his struggle, Harry allowed his fists to unclench. The expecting mother never possessed the potential to actually toy with Harry or anyone else for that matter.

"I'll be leaving after I finish my tea."

"You're worried about the date, aren't you? There wasn't much of an article about it. Higgs was wonderful about keeping the whole deal private."

The print flashed momentarily in Harry's mind:

_Escorting the ever-enigmatic Draco Malfoy, Higgs?_

_Higgs: I wouldn't exactly call him enigmatic, Lucile. He's definitely a mystery, but not unsolvable._

_While in school, did you ever have eyes for the Slytherin? You both attended together, yes?_

_Higgs: Well, considering we were five years apart, he was very much a child when we'd met. And the fact that he had wanted my Seeker's position didn't do much for a friendship. Different times and different people._

_Why keep the affair so exclusive? Both of you are quite the catches as of now__—__could have any and __every one__ if you chose to._

_Higgs (laughing): I have no interest in dating for sport. I'm twenty-six. Pardon my language, but I wasn't much of a whore when the world thought me straight. Why would that change because I've gone and out myself? Draco's a wonderful man. I'm looking forward to getting to know him._

_And how about his relationship with the elusive Harry Potter? Are you nervous that the pair may be a bit more than business partners?_

_Higgs: Draco's told me about their relationship. It's professional and Potter's presence is really helping publicity for Draco's center. If a War Hero supports a cause, it's probably a worthy cause indeed. I give him all the credit in the world for moving past his differences with Draco to help these children._

_Speaking of children, we hear from a reliable source that you're thinking of ado__—_

And that's where Harry had ceased to complete the interview. The churning in his stomach was in no agreement with the words on the page and if he continued, there was a stern possibility that he would have covered the _Prophet_in bile.

"It's of no concern to me, he can do as he pleases," the brunette bit through clenched teeth.

"When I was little, Daddy used to read me a story about Flaxers and Boxens. They never got along until one Flaxer told a Boxen that he was smitten with her. Turns out, she felt the same and the two eloped to make their own family of Floxen. The cutest little green-armed, pig-nosed, pink-haired, pixies you've ever seen. When their families saw what a beautiful group they made, they settled their differences and lived happily ever after."

There was a dreamy look to her eyes as she recounted her past. "Am I supposed to learn something from that story?"

"Flaxers never were the brightest pixies."

* * *

><p>Harry arrived dutifully at noon, not bothering to knock as he entered the centre. The eating area was surprisingly empty considering it was near lunchtime. He heard some ruckus outside and saw a pair of girls sat on the sill of a nearby window, giggling at their sight.<p>

"Where is everyone?" the former Gryffindor asked the girls. The red-haired child turned with a smile.

"Outside playing Quidditch, Mr Harry."

"Quidditch?"

The black haired girl Harry had remembered as Sarah spoke next. "It's a sport with brooms, Mr Harry. That Seeker who came last week is teaching us how to play."

Sure enough, Terence Higgs was standing amongst a crowd of all sorts, instructing at least a dozen riders. Goal posts stood on opposite ends of the yard, some players sat guard while most simply remained spectators. Draco was among the spectators, the smile on his face both broad and true as he squinted against the sun, laughing as Karina pulled at the hem of his shirt in giddiness. He proceeded to lift his daughter from the ground and onto his shoulders. Harry recognised the dress she was wearing to be the dress she'd bought during their ice cream a few weeks previous.

"Will he be here all day?" Harry wondered absently.

"I think so. He's taking us to a game this weekend. Mr Seamus is super excited. I hear the other team has pretty shirts. I don't really like his Seeker shirt."

_Well, isn't he just a fucking wonder._

Just as the girls turned back to the window, Terence was shuffling through the tight-fitted group to Draco, taking Karina off his shoulders and pecking the blond man on the cheek before carrying the flailing child with one arm over his head in a circular flying motion. The same disgusting bile built in his throat as he heard her shriek through the thick panel of glass.

The brunet made way for his office, deciding it best to keep as far away from the new soon-to-be couple as possible.

To his astonishment, the room was occupied.

"Felix?" Harry called, waking the boy from his mindless staring. The teen jumped in response and could have contracted whiplash with the force he exerted in looking to Harry.

"H-hi, Mister, I mean—Harry. S-sorry I'm here, I was just waiting for you and Draco said you would be coming again this Thursday and-."

The hero smiled and shook his head, laying his hand on the stuttering boy's shoulder. "Absolutely no need to apologise, Felix. How can I help you today?"

Harry took a seat behind his desk and put his feet up, feigning comfort for this stressed orphan.

"Well, I would like to talk about what happened in the few months the Death Eaters had me."

The Man Who Lived blinked in awe. "Are you sure? I mean, it's a huge step and I want you to make certain you're talking to someone you trust and can feel at ease in revealing this information to."

"I trust you, Harry. Really, I do." There was such naïve certainty in the boy's voice, making it nearly impossible to discourage his efforts.

"Please then, continue."

* * *

><p>I was alone in this unimaginable darkness. The back of my eyelids didn't even seem to be so dark. I remember there being a lot of pain. I remember feeling the back of my head and touching something wet. I assumed it to be blood, but I couldn't make out a thing. I hadn't any ideas as to how I'd come to this place. I couldn't remember a blasted thing from before waking in the darkness.<p>

There were chains shackling my ankles and a rumbling started in my stomach. It may have been days since I'd eaten.

Suddenly, a piece of the wall opened and a young girl was tossed inside. I only had a moment to see her face before the darkness returned. She had dark hair and pale skin, her face was thin and worn. Perhaps she was a bit older than myself.

"Hello," she said. She must've seen me when the door opened. "Someone's there. I saw you."

"Hello," I croaked in return. I didn't remember ever speaking until that moment.

"What's your name?"

Racking my brain for several minutes, I couldn't recall. "I don't know."

She laughed then and the sound was hollow. "I don't remember my name either."

We couldn't reach each other, but I felt very connected to her. She understood me. Granted, she was the only person I could consciously remember, but I think if I would have known her otherwise, I still would have felt a bit better around her.

She didn't talk about what she'd been through. Her laugh was wonderful, so lovely even in the midst of terror.

One night, or I assumed it to be night, she was removed from the room. A tall, longhaired man took her and she threw me a smile before she was forced away. Something in that grin gave me hope, and I held onto that feeling throughout the next bout of horrors.

For what felt like years, and I now know to have been days, I was spelled to torturous amounts of pain. I was a test to them. A test for new Death Eaters. They were meant to bring me to the brink of death without actually completing the deed. That privilege was reserved for actual Death Eaters, those who have earned the mark.

When I began to tolerate the beatings, I was, well…

They raped me. Sometimes a few at a time, sometimes one at a time. It began to not matter. Nothing mattered. I couldn't die, they wouldn't let me. And if I did manage to receive a deadly cut, they would heal me only enough to scar. The pain still raged.

When they were through with me, I was put back in that horrid room, bruised and broken. I sobbed after I knew they had no more use for me. Half because of impending death, and half because I knew the torture may be over.

Not long after my assault, the same girl was cast inside. She was silent. Not even her breathing could be heard.

"What did they do to you?" I finally managed to ask, turning in the direction of the door. I only realised then that we were in another room as there was light pouring in from the bars of the exit.

She looked terrible, bruises beneath her eyes. Her skin was purpled and what was still natural only paled further. Blood stained her clothing that was torn to near shreds. She was shaking terribly. Small sobs were escaping her mouth.

I never received an answer.

Time moved much slower than before. I may as well have been alone. A ruckus could be heard outside of the cell and I heard a rushed turning of a knob.

"What's happening?" I heard her whisper to someone I hadn't seen before. He hadn't been a Death Eater assigned to me. "What're you doing?"

"I'm getting you out of here," the boy said, unchaining her from her bonds. "Come on, we haven't much time."

"Why?"

"I can't keep you here after what happened. I have a choice now and I need to get you out of here," he said just as quietly.

She was far too weak to lift herself, so the boy picked her up in his arms and carried her off, turning once to look at me with the deadest grey eyes I can ever remember since. His hair looked like a dulled blond and his skin was nearly as pale as the girl's in his arms. I could tell he wasn't the wrong sort just from the sound of his voice. I don't know if he'd loved her or what of it, but he saved her.

Again, I felt a small pang of hope.

My tears stopped.

The Death Eaters hadn't returned. In fact, the next face I'd seen was one of an Auror's. She picked me up in her arms and held me for a long while, helped me to my feet and led me to the outside.

I don't know what happened to the girl with me, but somehow, I knew she was all right.

I was all right.

Everything would be okay.

* * *

><p>Harry never once looked away from Felix as he retold his memory.<p>

"You're brave, Felix."

"I'm alive," he responded in turn. "That's about as much as I could ask for."

"The boy who saved that girl, did you see him again? Through your trials and everything? There were quite a few Death Eaters put up."

Felix quirked a brow in confusion. "Don't you know? Draco Malfoy saved that girl, Harry."


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen_

Harry excused himself from Felix when the time became appropriate, never indulging the nagging question pertaining to Draco in the back of his mind. Still, even throughout the story, the Man Who Lived could not ignore the likeness of Felix's face to someone he could not yet name.

Leaving his office, he was curious to find a still on-going lunch—much later than usual. Not seeing the famous Seeker or Draco, Harry followed his feet to the field outside.

Of course, dead centre of the makeshift Quidditch field stood the blond and high above his head flew Higgs. The hero could feel his eyes roll on their own accord at his prowess and arrogant technique. Coming up to stand beside Draco, Harry cleared his throat to announce himself.

"Pretty good, eh?" the former Slytherin commented, never once glancing at Harry, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I s'pose he isn't bad," the brunet returned, his hands finding the pockets of his dark green trousers almost mechanically. A worthless gesture whether conscious or not because everything suddenly became very itchy beneath his black jumper and he was forced to scratch at the uncomfortable tension created either by fabric or the situation itself.

"Scared he may be better than you, Potter?" Draco jibed, finally looking in his direction, a playful sneer pulling at his lips that Harry found himself drawn to like moths to a flame.

"You wish, Malfoy," he muttered, shaking himself clear of the radical thoughts traveling about his head. Such as the gentle rose tint to Draco's nose in the slight cold, or the soft blond hair atop his head that just _begged _to be tugged on, perhaps even the forming smile on his rival's ever so inviting mouth…

He'd almost forgotten why he'd come to speak to the blond in the first place.

"I need to talk to you, Draco. A minute?"

Before anyone could answer, Terence touched down not a yard away from the pair with Karina in tow. His hair was wind-worn and the grin stretching his face was abnormally large.

"Hello, Potter! Great to see you again," he greeted, thrusting his hand outwards to shake with Harry. "Last time I'd seen you, I think you were dominating the Quidditch field—if I'm not mistaken."

The returning laugh was laced with malice for this man. Luckily, the Seeker hadn't caught sight of it. Draco seemed to see something off-putting, though. His stance became noticeably rigid.

"Harry!" Karina cried, colliding with the former Gryffindor's knees. "I've missed you! Mr Higgs has been teaching us how to fly all day and he's taking us to a game! Will you come, Harry? Please? You can sit with Daddy and me and we can watch it together. Oh! It will be such fun, Harry."

"Well, when is the game?" he asked, raising his eyebrow in Terence's direction. A challenge of sorts.

"Second week of October, the twelfth. I believe it's next Tuesday," the Seeker readily replied.

"Of course I can make it. Wouldn't want to be anywhere else." Harry patted Karina's head and kneeled in front of her. "If you'd like, I can make you my special hot chocolate."

Her answering beam was absolutely blinding. "Yes, please!"

Giving the girl a quick peck to the cheek and standing again, Harry took hold of Karina's hand and stared expectantly at his host.

"What did you want to talk—"

"How about a Seeker's game, Potter? Think you're up for it?" Terence interrupted. However, with the opportunity presented so casually for Harry to best this professional at his own sport, he could hardly find time to feel angry for his complete ignorance of Draco's question.

"Youngest Seeker of the century, Higgs. I'd love to knock you around the field for a while. Do you have a Snitch?"

A strange emotion hid behind Terence's smirk as he revealed a small golden ball, the wings fluttering frantically.

"Pick your broom. They're all the latest models."

Harry suddenly found himself jolted back into second year, looking at a haughty Malfoy with his newly appointed and paid for position as Seeker of the Slytherin team. He was still competing with the same House after all. The thought would have been tremendously amusing under different circumstances.

The Man Who Lived chose blindly, knowing each broom would suit him as foreign as anything other than his school broom would.

Each Seeker mounted his broom. Terence released the Snitch and both wizards watched the orb fly.

"Thirty second start for the Snitch," Harry called with a nod from his opposition. The emerald-eyed man looked over to find grey eyes filled with an aggravation not unlike their previous relationship.

Deciding that this competition was far more important, Harry returned his gaze to the elder man. As his inner clock struck thirty in his mind, the Seekers took off to the sky.

Surprisingly, the lift-off was not nearly as unsteady as Harry had anticipated. In fact, it was as if he never left the game. He found himself flying for almost pure pleasure if it weren't for the tiny obligation to tear this championship winning Quidditch player to pieces.

Within the first fifteen minutes of searching and flying, Harry spotted the ball only to find Terence experiencing the same vision. Both wizards raced to the Snitch, jerking at dangerous angles. Only once did the hero nearly feel himself slipping from his broom. Suddenly, the men were side by side, knocking into each other with an unsportsmanlike vigour.

Two arms reached, Harry further, then Terence further—both coming and going.

They were diving towards the ground, an almost exact copy of the first moment they'd competed. Vaguely remembering what needed done, Harry began to pull his broom to become parallel with the grass. Terence veered sideways and ahead of Harry, as though he'd practiced this move before. No doubt he had.

Within an instant, the Snitch disappeared from the former Gryffindor's view.

Terence had changed his route from their previous go and snatched the prize from another direction.

Watching his competitor wave the fluttering ball, land gracefully, and step right up to Draco in order to pull him into a tight hug and unabashedly chaste kiss, Harry worked to control his rising temper and only just swallowed his rage in time.

_You've no right to be angry. Doesn't matter._

"Good game, Potter!" Terence called genuinely. "Close call at the end there. But, I'm the one being paid for it, yeah?"

"Go fuck yourself, Higgs!" Harry responded before his brain could catch his mouth. The defeated man stomped off. He wanted nothing more than to apparate home and that was precisely what he'd done.

A loud _crack _alerted the Burrow to his entrance, and to anyone missing the scene, Harry's heavy steps and slammed bathroom door signalled the event well in the apparation's stead.

Heating water to dangerously high levels, Harry stepped into the shower and let the drops of water spray some sort of ease into his back.

_Can't believe I let that happen._

* * *

><p>Draco stood gaping in Harry's wake. What in the name of all that's magic could have caused the Man Who Lived to react so harshly?<p>

"That was a bit uncalled for," Terence supplied. "Just a bit of sport. No need to swear in front of your girl."

Curiosity set the wheels in motion. The blond looked to his suitor and down to his daughter.

"Watch her for a moment, will you, Terence?"

Without waiting for an answer, Draco thought of the Burrow carefully—only having seen it in pictures—and apparated to a spot near enough to at least walk to the property.

Straightening his attire, and preparing for a likely detrimental welcome, the former Death Eater knocked lightly on the misshapen door.

A rounder than he could remember Luna stood on the opposite side of the threshold, smiling warmly.

"Hello, Draco. Lovely to see you. Care to come in? If you're wondering about my belly, George and I are having twins." The witch patted her stomach for emphasis and led the wizard inside.

"Harry's upstairs in his room, I think. Or in the shower. I reckon that's why you're here? You can go up if you'd like. Either way, he'll be on the third floor."

"Thank-you."

Draco took the steps two at a time and spelled every door unlocked. Hearing water blasting against tile and then ceasing to drips told the blond of his target's whereabouts. Without hesitation, Draco barged into the large, fogged bathroom to find a rather naked Harry towel drying his hair—still unbeknownst to the former Slytherin.

Not for long.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Harry screeched, covering himself with his hands. Too late for keeping his package a secret. A deep flush was spreading thickly over Draco's cheeks.

"What the piss was all that about at the centre?" he countered, hoping his blush would be thought because of the steamed room.

Seeming to forget his nakedness, the brunet glared daggers at his intruder. "That didn't make him any better than me. I was a moment from catching it myself and he's trained for years. I would have won otherwise."

"Do you think I give a shit, Potter?"

"So, it's back to Potter?" Harry accused, taking a step to Draco, who was leaning against the sink. "And I don't think you give the slightest shit, dating that pretty-boy without even mentioning it to me and then telling him we're just co-workers? How would I _ever _believe that _you _of all people gave any sort of shit?"

"It's none of your business what I tell Terence. And we decided to keep whatever the fuck this is a secret. That was agreed on." Draco took his own step, not backing away from the unspoken dispute.

"So, you plan on keep it up then? Having him in the papers and me as your fucking _plaything_ on the side?" The heat of each other's conjoined discomfort radiated through the half-foot space between them and buzzed tremendously.

"I never said that. Don't put words in my mouth."

"I'd rather put a fist in your mouth to be honest."

"Then, do it," Draco instigated. "Punch me in the fucking face, Potter." Another step and the two were brushing chests. "Consider it free of charge," he hissed, eyes sparkling with the beginnings of a fight.

However, Harry had other plans as he crushed their lips together, backing Draco to the edge of the sink and lifting the blond to sit on the counter. Hungrily, the brunet took the blond's bottom lip between his teeth and Draco, whose hands were still at his sides, came to take the wet locks of Harry's hair into his hands and pulled, eliciting a moan from the Man Who Lived and thrusting his tongue inside the warmth of that very talented mouth.

The brunet somehow weaselled his way between the other's legs and Draco bucked forward, his clothed erection bumping ever so enticingly into Harry's naked member.

"Fuck, Draco," the brunet whined with a thrust of his own. Moving to the sensitive skin behind Draco's ear, Harry began to undo the zipper of his captive's overcoat. With a breath of frustration, the hero wandlessly disappeared the blond's clothing. The touch of magic tickling Draco's once covered bits stirred something oddly pleasant in his stomach. A cross between strong, uninhibited desire and awe at this other wizard's capabilities.

A finger trailed after a single bead of sweat falling towards the private hair that collected just a tad below Draco's inward navel. Only then did the temperature occur to him after the pleasurable shudder ran its course. It was almost unbearably hot in the close compartment. And with that wicked mouth now descending after its owner's fingers, well, Draco couldn't remember a time when he'd felt warmer.

_Inside or out…_

_Oh, fuck. _That _tongue. _That blessed, marvellous, miraculous tongue was reaching lower and lower—teasing Draco to within an inch of his sanity before engulfing the entire length of his member in one go. For the minimalist of moments, the blond wondered where Harry gained such a skill, became jealous of the reason, and finally succumbed to utter gratitude for the countless men who led to this _perfection._

He could feel words tumbling out of his own mouth, but could hardly make out what he was saying. However, when Draco could feel _Harry _roll from his lips, the man between his knees would groan in answer, causing a lovely vibration to accompany the blinding _heat._

So he said _Harry__—_and he said it as though it were a prayer—over and over.

"Harry!" he shouted, lacing his fingers through damp locks in attempts to pull the man away from his release. Harry held his hips tight enough to bruise and sucked as strongly as he could, giving Draco all the permission he needed.

The blond was hardly supporting himself on his elbows, practically laying on the countertop as Harry rose to his feet with a cheeky grin. Draco's recovery from the powerful orgasm he'd just experienced was far from timely. He was nearly sightless for an entire minute.

"I'll take the wordless panting and vacant stare as a job well done?" Harry laughed, taking Draco's hand and leading him back into the shower. When Draco looked over his partner's body, he noticed that the Man Who Lived was no longer hard and flushed at the idea of not needing to touch Harry for him to find release as well.

The shower was simply that—to clean. From time to time, the pair would share a chaste kiss, but other than that, the time was a comfortable silence. Aside from the tiny whimpers Draco made while Harry paid special attention to massaging his scalp.

Upon leaving the tub, the brunet grabbed an unused towel and ruffled the blond's hair dry, then moving to the water dressing his skin. It felt entirely new to have someone taking care of him without prompting. To be taken care of so simply and almost childishly in its pureness.

When sufficiently dried, Harry left the bathroom and walked into another room. Draco followed suit to find his leader locating a pair of boxer-briefs. The pair locked gazes and every scrape of emotion plummeted into his lower stomach.

_What the bloody fuck have I done?_

"Draco, are you all right? You're paler than usual." With a concerned air, Harry placed his hand on the blond's forehead to assess for illness. "You're not warm. What's wrong?"

"I'm seeing Terence and I just—we just—I mean—oh fucking shit!" Immediately, Draco sat at the edge of Harry's bed and hid his face in his hands. The post-orgasmic feelings completely depleted. "I shouldn't be here."

The bed dipped beside him and he felt a strong hand circling his back gently.

"He doesn't have to know if you don't want him to. You're not exclusive."

"But, I promised we were professional, Harry," Draco mumbled through his hands.

"He won't know."

The blond exhaled loudly and turned to face Harry. His emerald eyes sparkled with something more than lust, though; Draco could not find the right word. With Harry, it seemed like the right answer never existed which was oddly comforting. That meant there was no wrong answer either.

"What did you need to talk to me about earlier?" he whispered.

"I talked to Felix," Harry began, pausing tensely. Draco waited on baited breath. "Why didn't you tell me you knew him during the war, which you saved the girl he'd been captured with?"

Draco shut his eyes tightly and succeeded in squelching a scream. "It wasn't your business, Potter and I don't wish to talk about it."

"But, you were a hero to her," the Saviour justified, noticeably put off by the use of his surname. "Why should you be ashamed of that?"

"Felix has a very limited view of that scene in my life, Harry," the blond hissed through clenched teeth. _I will not draw attention._

"What does that mean? Who was the girl?"

"Why does it matter? It's in the past and I'm trying to move forward from that."

Batting his dreadfully long lashes, Harry tried again. "Please. I just want to understand."

"You can't understand!" Draco finally broke, rising to his feet and pacing quickly in front of Harry. "Perfect sodding Harry Bloody Potter couldn't understand the selfish motives behind releasing a captive. They were very selfish. Believe me. You could _never _understand the lengths I went through to cope with this part of my life and I'm still coping. Every fucking day I'm reminded of what I did and why I did it. Sometimes it's enough to _kill me." _His pacing stalled along with his speech. Harry's mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something but could not locate the proper formulations.

"I don't see how saving a person could be selfish."

"I saved her because I couldn't live with myself otherwise. Saving her justified my actions beforehand."

Sympathetically, Harry looked on, imploring Draco to continue.

"Potter, her name was Elizabeth London. During my initiation, she was my test." Only a moment passed before the hero found himself on the same wavelength. "She was Karina's mother."


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

Rocking back and forth on his heels and feeling somewhat abandoned as time stretched onwards, Terence smiled sheepishly at the probing child in his presence stared with the utmost curiosity.

"Are you my daddy's boyfriend?" Karina asked in the most incredulous voice a five-year-old could muster.

Chuckling with a choked cough and pressing his fist to his mouth to stifle the sound, Terence did his absolute best to smile through watering eyes.

"Why do you ask that, Karina?"

She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips, jutting the left outwards in challenge. "Well, you keep touching him and kissing him and stuff."

"I'm sorry," he apologised with sincerity. Of course, this would seem strange to a girl with only a father at the present and a mother in the past. Never two parents. Never a relationship. "Do you not like me with your father?"

The girl shrugged and chewed thoughtfully on her lip. "You're okay."

"Just okay?" the question was playful with an abnormally large amount of nervousness beneath the falsified exterior.

"I like Harry."

The Seeker couldn't decide whether to laugh or weep from the blunt honesty of Draco's daughter. Not one to be outdone, even by a mere child's challenge, Terence found himself crossing his arms across his chest and raising one eyebrow in contempt.

"And you don't like me?"

"Daddy likes Harry more. So, I like Harry more," she said simply.

"Who says?"

"I do."

This was the metaphorical straw breaking his self-control. The former Slytherin clutched his ribcage in a pathetic attempt to still his laughter. "Dear, how would you possibly know?"

"When he talks about Harry, he makes the same face Mommy used to make when she talked about Daddy."

_Perceptive little thing, isn't she?_

"Let's get you some lunch, Karina."

* * *

><p>"Did you see Harry run through here?" Charlie asked an off-guard George who was reading a book entitled: <em>What to Expect When You're Expecting: A Wizard's Guide to Children. <em>"What're you reading?"

"I'm not even," he blushed straight through to his hairline. "Don't tell Luna."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the elder brother promised. "Who would believe me?"

George laughed and dog-eared his current page. "I haven't seen Harry, no."

"I have!" Luna pranced into scene, smiling giddily as the lone twin sought to hide his book to no avail. "Sweet-ums, don't worry about expecting. I have a whole shelf of things we can read together! And Harry's upstairs with Draco."

"Are you barking mad, woman?" George nearly bellowed and if his wife weren't pregnant, he may have hexed her. Never violently, of course. "You've known the two were in this house, upstairs and alone and you didn't think to tell me?"

"Wasn't much of your business, was it? We're out of Hogwarts now. Let the boy alone. What'd you need him for, Charlie?" Luna asked innocently.

"I just wanted to—w-well, I j-just wanted t-to ask him about … pinecones."

"The piss are you goin' on about, Char? Is Harry a pinecone expert?"

The man in question shook his head and looked to the ground, kicking his feet into the aging carpet. "He's not."

"So, where'd you get pinecones from? That doesn't even make …" As if a light bulb had gone off, "Oh."

Charlie chanced a glance at his younger brother and nodded once.

"Just talk to him. He's not this heartless thing, Charlie."

"What'll he say?"

George inhaled deeply, wrapped an arm around his wife, kissed the top of her head and sighed. "That he's not interested romantically. But, would you rather go on pining for something impossible?"

"I like denial. Worked pretty well for the past few years."

"Then, by all means, stay on the first floor for a bit. God only knows what's going on up there." Reaching into his pockets, George pulled out his enchanted ear only to have the spy device smacked from his hand.

"If you were a man, and not pregnant, and not my significant other, I'd knock your teeth in."

"And if you weren't so cute, I wouldn't have married you."

* * *

><p>Harry didn't move. Harry didn't breathe. If anything, he became a statue and sank farther and farther into his mattress. The silence was deafening. Meanwhile, Draco stood just as rigid. His hand twitched with the need to cover his mouth, as though that could dismiss his previous statement.<p>

In truth, there was no turning back now.

"Say something, Potter," Draco managed, his eyes squeezed tight enough to cause a headache. His fists were clenching just as tightly at his sides so that the nails were forming crescent moons against the palms of ivory skin. _Anything_.

He didn't.

Not for a while, at least.

The Man Who Lived, still as stone, shifted his eyes from left to right on the floor. There seemed to be a particularly embedded magical stain left from his earlier residence in the room.

"What would you like me to say?" he asked in almost complete faintness. "Draco, she's—Karina is—how could you?"

The blond's face darkened, his eyes turned to slits of what could only be assumed as rage.

How could he? _How could he?_ What the bloody fuck would Harry know about _how?_

_Harry Sodding Potter. Perfect Saint Potter. Couldn't hurt a damn thing if he tried. Not that he would ever try. Perfect __saviour__ of the blasted universe. Why would he understand? How could he?_

"I think you've said enough," Draco answered; unable to speak any louder than a muffled crackle of sounds. The former Slytherin scratched his faded mark, only now remembering it was uncovered for the first time in a long time in the presence of another person. He made leave for the door, hoping to find his discarded clothing in the bathroom, eyes burning with the extremely possible rampage of tears.

Before either man could make up his mind to move in whichever direction seemed more appropriate, they heard an impatent knock. Feeling a tingle of magic trickle over him, Draco looked down to his bottom half to find foreign clothes draping his body. He assumed that the articles belonged to Harry since they were almost the right size, but a tad short in the trousers.

"Harry? Are you in there?"

Draco immediately identified the voice as Charlie's and could feel his face flush and heart drop.

_How long had he been standing there?_

Clearing his throat, "Yes, Charlie. I'm in here. Come in if you'd like."

The door opened and it was indeed a dishevelled Weasley visiting. He didn't seem at all surprised by Harry's company, forcing Draco's stomach to drop further.

"Hello, Draco. You've been well?"

"As well as I could be, I suppose. Nice to see you, Charlie." He hoped the inner struggle wasn't too obvious as he competed with his rolling eyes.

"Likewise."

"Can I help you?" Harry contributed, seeming almost as aggravated with Charlie's presence as Draco.

"Wanted to know if you'd like to come out with me tomorrow afternoon. I need to have a tux fitted."

Shaking his head at the absurdity of the useless question, the brunet smiled. "Sure, Charlie."

The redhead beamed in return and nodded his goodbyes to the pair. Unwanted and unwelcomed.

"Got yourself a date, Potter?"

"I think that's the last thing on my mind, Draco."

"What's first then? Shipping me off to Azkaban for my confession? Having services take Karina from me? I'll tell you now—if you so much as lay a hand on my daughter in order to remove her, I'll kill you. No magic. With my bare hands. I will fucking kill you and that is a promise."

"You said that already," Harry observed, standing with his oppressor. "I think we should talk about this."

"Oh, do you? And what if I declined? What if I wanted to call this whole charade off because you can't help? For once, precious saviour, you can't fix something and I'm sure that's going to deflate your ego quite a bit, but that's surely not my problem." He paused only a moment to breathe and take hold of the doorknob. "I'll assume you'll no longer be working for a person like me. Good day, Potter."

With that final word, Harry was left alone in the claustrophobic room.

"Don't worry about it, Mate! Plenty of other snarky blond boys out there!" George sounded from a few floors below.

The Man Who Lived couldn't bring himself to care.

* * *

><p>Hermione hardly breathed as pins were being placed all around her body to fix the final loose ends to her wedding gown.<p>

"You're going to look beautiful," Ginny remarked, patting down her golden, knee-high, A-line dress with red accents. Of course the colours for the wedding would need to be Gryffindor themed. It was only appropriate.

"Thanks, Gin. How do you think walking down the aisle with Harry is going to be?"

"We're adults, Herm. I'm sure we'll manage. You know, I'm a bit more worried for Charlie than myself. I haven't seen Harry, but I've seen my brother and he's a mess."

"You haven't seen Harry?" Perhaps she was more preoccupied than anticipated.

"Not out of avoidance. Hasn't come up is all. I'm sure we'll run into one another."

"Come over for dinner tonight. Harry should be around and I'd like very much to get that reunion out of the way before the wedding."

Ginny smiled nervously and picked a piece of imaginary lint from her dress. "Love to."

* * *

><p>"Harry, please eat something. What's got you in such a fuss, Dear?" Molly wondered aloud, running her fingers through her adopted son's hair.<p>

"Got into a tiff with his boyfriend," George mumbled with a full mouth. "Stormed off in a huff after Charlie interrupted whatever they'd been doing beforehand. I'd know that part too, but Luna here decided that I shouldn't know Harry and Draco's whereabouts."

"And too right she was! It isn't your business what Harry does in his spare time … in my old room … with another man …" Ron ceased all verbal functions, deciding that tending to his food was much more prudent than this conversation.

Aside from the occasional uncontrolled laughter from George, dinner was unbearably quiet.

_Why?_

This was the word repeating itself in Harry's mind.

Why had Draco run?

Why had Draco done this?

What happened to Elizabeth?

Who else knew?

Why would Draco trust Harry with this information?

_Why won't Charlie stop fucking looking at me from across the table?_

But, more importantly, why couldn't Harry be disgusted with Draco's past? The act was heinous, despicable, and impossible to redeem. The former Death Eater forcibly removed a girl's innocence and left a child in its wake.

Above all, he's lied. Well, perhaps he hasn't lied, but he's certainly not told the truth.

This was enough to make Harry physically ill. Partly from Draco and the other parts from his lack of suitable response. He should despise the blond, want to deliver him on a silver platter to the Ministry and leave him at their mercy, take Karina away from such a terrible man…

_He isn't terrible. He's just made terrible decisions._

Draco was human. Not that that was any sort of excuse, but he was _trying._

In the midst of inner debate, Harry hadn't noticed the empty chair next to him pull and screech outward and scoot back into place. It wasn't until a hand fell on his shoulder that he noticed unusual company.

Looking up, he faced the nearly forgotten face of his last and only girlfriend.

Ginny Weasley.

* * *

><p>"Mr Malfoy, where did Harry go?" Felix asked during dinner, leaving his friends early enough to meet with a crazed ex-Death Eater. "He ran off earlier and hasn't returned."<p>

"I'm afraid Harry won't be returning to us anymore, Felix," the man said without looking up from the blank pages he'd scattered around himself.

"Because of what I said?" Felix whispered, his hands twisting into themselves.

"No," Draco answered honestly. _Because of me._


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

"Hi, Harry!" Ginny beamed, collecting the Man Who Lived in her arms and squeezing him tightly. "It's so good to see you."

He was at a loss for words. Of course he knew the witch would eventually step back into his life, completely certain after Hermione's previous meeting. However, he wasn't prepared this evening—still attempting to stomach this new information and accept the last woman in his life's presence.

"It's—wow. Um, good to see you too, Gin. You look …" Harry paused. How did she look?

_Older? _Well, that did come with years of absence.

_Different? _Not so much. She was still red-haired and freckled. The same innocent smile. The same sparkling eyes.

_Happier? _Perhaps that was accurate. She seemed lighter, freer than how she'd left Harry and her family. There wasn't a resentful malice behind her comment. It was polite, as old friends should be.

"You look lovely," he settled on, her answering smile signalling the proper placement of his statement. "How've you been?"

"Oh, goodness. Busy as I can ever remember. Not counting the war of course. But, let's not talk about that. How've _you_ been?"

"Busy," he supplied readily. _Boning random blokes for three years. Possibly falling a bit into like with Draco Malfoy. Coming to the unsightly conclusion that he both rescued and r__—_

Harry couldn't even think the word.

"I'll bet," Ginny tried, turning her attention to Charlie and committing to a conversation Harry wanted no part in.

The saviour drifted, catching a word every now and again of Ginny's whereabouts for the past three years.

Apparently, she had become a spy for the Ministry. Not an Auror exactly, but close enough. Running missions recently on ex-Death Eaters still in the process of kidnapping and torturing Muggle born wizards and witches. The case she currently found herself situated in was unfortunately stationed somewhere near Norway. Harry hadn't caught the name of the little town, but there was reason to believe that a trailed group was harbouring active Death Eaters and responsible for the disappearance of nearly a dozen victims.

It would have been highly interesting if the Man Who Lived weren't so lost in his own thoughts. However, being so out of tune with his company did make ignoring Charlie a bit simpler.

"You alright, Mate?" Ron prodded to his left. "Haven't said a word or eaten a thing for maybe a half hour."

Harry shrugged and pushed mashed potatoes around his plate in a figure eight.

"Don't want to talk about what happened?"

The silence seemed to answer that unbelievably obvious question.

"I think I'll go to bed," Harry announced solemnly, backing out of his chair and feeling eight sets of eyes follow him all the way to the staircase. "George, I'd appreciate it if you didn't listen in on me this evening."

"He won't, Harry!" Luna chimed reassuringly.

"Over my a—ouch, Luna! You don't just punch people!"

* * *

><p>It was a bit brisk for the second week in October and the wedding was approaching quickly. Diagon Ally was buzzing with shoppers readying themselves for Halloween. Madam Malkin's was no exception as nearly every wizard or witch's child wanted something handmade and entirely different from the next trick-or-treater. Needless to say, the amount of children stuffed into the shop did next to nothing in assisting Harry with his mind-numbing headache. Part of which was caused by the sleepless night he'd recently suffered through, the other from Charlie's relentless monologue about his tie being too tight and trousers that weren't quite long enough. Harry was certain there was much more to the one-sided conversation, but he couldn't grasp the exact point where he ceased giving a flying fuck.<p>

"I'd bother Madam, but she's just so busy."

_Let everyone walk all over you, Charlie. It's appealing._

Everything seemed to rub Harry the wrong way as of late. Even politeness.

"Maybe I should help her."

_Especially politeness._

"Can you just pick a suit, Charlie? It isn't _your_ wedding," Harry burst, regretting his utterance only a moment after its completion. "Sorry. I'm just a bit frustrated."

"Draco troubles." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.

"You could say that, sure." The saviour crossed one leg over the other, placed his hands behind his head after winding them through his hair and sighed.

"Not that it's my business, but are you through with one another?"

_Please don't come onto me in public. _"I think we're about finished, Charlie." There was indeed a touch of annoyance in Harry's voice, but his red-haired company hadn't seemed to notice much of anything outside of the possibility that the light of his life was single.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but you'll surely find someone else. Perhaps someone right under your nose." The thought was hopeful. Genuinely hopeful. And Harry found himself missing the naivety of childhood. He may have sounded just as optimistic as Charlie before the war had darkened him, but he doubted it severely.

"Maybe," he conceded, more to keep Charlie from declaring anything he would regret later.

"Help me with this tie? Can't seem to get it just right. Always too tight or too loose."

_I heard you the first thirty times about the damn tie! _"Sure."

The brunet stood and almost trudged to Charlie, taking his time to make the tie just right on the first try. He could feel the man's eyes boring into the top of his head and he made the conscious decision to focus solely on his task and nothing more.

So, naturally, when his chin was cupped hastily and a clumsy kiss was pressed to his lips, Harry hardly registered the act or the camera snapping behind him.

_Hardly._

Forcing the redhead away with the most impressive of efforts, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared maliciously at his oppressor.

Before he had a moment to speak, a vaguely familiar voice sounded behind him.

"Potter! Didn't know you were dating another Weasley! Not a fan of public displays of affection what with that reaction, eh?" Terence laughed whole-heartedly and smacked Harry's back playfully. "I'm Terence. You're Charlie—if I'm not mistaken. Dragon tamer?"

"And you're the Magpie's Seeker," Charlie followed, extending his hand to properly introduce himself. A frown sat deep within the probably bruised man's mouth. "Pleasure."

"You're still attending the game this Tuesday, aren't you, Harry?"

"I don't believe I am, Terence. And you have the wrong idea about Charlie and I. We're not together," the Chosen One attempted to clarify despite Charlie's protest.

"Oh, what with that kiss—well, I just assumed …"

_I gave your boyfriend a blowjob yesterday while you babysat his __centre__ no doubt. Does that mean him and I are together?_

Harry held his tongue and shook his head. "No."

"Ah, well. I'm assuming you're dressing for the wedding? Draco's invited me to the affair. You're the Best Man if I'm not mistaken."

"You know what happens when you assume? You make an arse out of you and me. But, that's correct. I'm Ron's Best Man. Have you met either of the couple?" Harry asked incredulously, boldly asserting himself in this situation he was certain the Seeker knew nothing of.

"I've met them in school, but haven't seen either since." His answer was so outright and plain, as if he couldn't be mussed. "Having a bachelor party for him?"

"Ron's been a bachelor for four years, Higgs. He doesn't want a party. If he had it his way, they'd elope and more than likely would have been married about a day after Voldemort's death." Harry noted the poorly concealed shudder shifting through Terence's form and smirked. "Still a bit put off by the name, eh?"

"S'pose it's different for those of us who hadn't the chance to kill him."

"He killed himself. I've never killed anyone."

The Seeker smiled smartly. "Of course. Wonder what the difference between the hand that's killed and the weapon is? I mean—they each had a role?" He shrugged indifferently, "Who's more to blame? You or him?"

"You bite your filthy tongue, Higgs!" Harry hissed, lifting the man by his button up and hoisting him against the nearest wall. Another flash passed by the corner of his eye. His face burned with a fury he hadn't known since before Voldemort's death. "You don't know a fucking thing about what I've been through. You don't know a thing about me, or Draco for that matter. Stick to Quidditch—the brain-dead sport you're so fond of. Don't jump into other people's lives just because you can. You're not entitled."

"But, you are. Aren't you, _Chosen One?_"

It's quite possible that a millisecond of time passed between the last syllable of Terence's bark and the fist that crashed into his left cheek. The Seeker stumbled to the floor as Harry released him and he put his palm to his mouth, bringing back a hand full of blood.

"You hit me," he said aloud, disbelieving.

"You hit him," Charlie repeated.

"I hit him." _In the face. With my fist. And a camera at my back._

_Shit._

Terence rose to his feet and fled the shop, clutching his now broken face and whimpering some obscenity Harry couldn't precisely understand.

"Harry, what the hell are you doing?" Only then did the pain in his right fist begin to blossom at its fullest. He held onto the appendage gingerly and moved the reddened digits to assess any breaking.

"He deserved it," Harry justified through his teeth. "He was…"

"He was what? Talking about Malfoy? The man he's actually seeing in public without it being some charade? Come off it, Harry! If you were supposed to be with him, you'd be with him. That's how it works."

Charlie looked close to tears as he undid the knot at his throat and began to remove his final suit.

"I never said I wanted to be with him. What he does with his time is none of my concern and it never has been." _Lies._

Harry looked down to the back of his right hand. _I must not tell lies._

Draco had always concerned him. From the very first moment they'd met, the blond served as the pinprick in Harry's side and the constant reminder that life would never and could never be simple. They'd broken each other, mentally and physically. A nose for one case, near death slashing in the other. He cringed inwardly at the picture of past he was assaulted with from their sixth year. Draco—sprawled across the floor of the bathroom, tiles wet from missed curses, blood circulating towards drains, the sound of his yelping and sobbing from pain, the stains of red sinking back into his paling form as Snape reversed the curse. His own curse.

The Man Who Lived had been lucky then. He'd always relied so much on luck. Now that it was wearing thin, what could he turn to? Why now? He'd been with countless men before. _None _had _ever _affected Harry in the ways Draco could. That snarky git always had the most wonderful knack for sinking so very deeply into the saviour's skin.

"Stop lying, Harry. If I knew anything about love, which I'm convinced I don't, I would say you felt a bit more than jealousy."

"I don't love him, Charlie." An uneasy flutter sat in the pit of his stomach, churning something fierce. _I don't think I do._

And how could he? A Death Eater? A ra—

Vomit rose in his throat.

"Weird, y'know?" the redhead began, having his own clothes back in order. "I'm not too upset. I figured I would be, what with loving you for the last few years or so. Never wanted to admit it, but I did. Still do. Probably always have. And don't get me wrong, it hurts. To see you love someone who isn't me. But, I think I'm okay. I like when you're happy. And for a while, Draco did that for you."

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to argue that Charlie didn't love him, that he wasn't so hopelessly locked into Draco's trap, that the blond hadn't made him happy—even if he weren't conscious of the fact himself.

He couldn't. Instead, he stood gaping remorsefully and uttered two words. "I'm sorry."

"I am too, Harry," Charlie mirrored and stepped only inches from the brunet. Pressing a small kiss to the younger man's forehead, the eldest Weasley brother excused himself.

Only now noticing the crowd from the spectacle, Harry shut his eyes tightly and focused solely on breathing.

_In through the nose._

_Out through the mouth._

* * *

><p>Draco sat in the centre of his bed. Today was Tuesday. His centre would be attending a Magpies game at noon and he couldn't seem to find any reason to remove himself from the sights before him.<p>

On his left sat four different papers, which highlighted a rather impressive punch from Harry and kiss from Charlie. Of course, every story had a different plot, but the pictures couldn't lie.

On the right, a small, wooden box sat open with a pressed flower and aged, hand-written note.

Draco had done well with forgetting the existence of a Harry James Potter.

It wasn't until this morning when his paper arrived that he had a very hard time dispelling the idea since_ his_ face was plastered _again _to the cover of any and all print.

Having read the articles nearly nine times apiece, Draco needed a brief distraction from his distraction. The box on his right held the note that accompanied Karina after she'd been dropped on the Malfoy doorstep.

Taking special care to remove the older parchment without rip or tear, Draco unfolded the letter and held it near his eyes.

_Draco, _

_If you're reading these words, I am no longer able to take care of our daughter. Yes. Our daughter, Draco. Her name is Karina Grace Malfoy. She deserved to be named after a hero. And she's wonderful. Beautiful. Has your eyes even. Sorry about the rest, I'm afraid she looks a bit more like her mother. Some of your attitude, though. Same fight in her._

_Love her, Draco. With everything you have._

_Always,_

_Elizabeth_

He read again and again, losing count after the eleventh. Willing himself not to succumb to tears.

"Reading her note again, Draco?" Narcissa asked from the doorway. "She's in good hands, Darling. You care for her the way your father should have cared for you."

"I told Harry, Mum. I told him about Karina. About Elizabeth. What I did." His voice was soft and listless, void of any emotion. "Last Thursday. After we'd—"

"I don't need to know what happened, Draco. Please," his mother begged, her tone becoming shrill. "I'm not angry. Or upset even. I may be glad."

This awoke the younger Malfoy faster than iced water slapped to his face. "Excuse me? A few weeks ago, hadn't you hated even the mentioning of Potter's name?"

Narcissa shrugged. "Can't say I was particularly fond of the boy, no. But, he's a good man, Draco. He always has been. And the truth will eat at you if you can't rid yourself of it. Harry's trustworthy. I wouldn't dare to think that he'd give you away. Especially with Karina at stake. He's an orphan as well—he'd never feel right in leaving her without family, Dear."

"She'd have you if he wanted to sell me out."

She shook her head, "It wouldn't be the same. But, you're not worried about that. You know he won't do anything harmful to you or Karina, so what is it that's got you wound up? The articles?"

"When did you learn to read minds?" Draco attempted to smile, but even the thought physically ailed him.

"Terence hasn't tried to contact you?"

"Quite the opposite. I've received twelve letters from him. All pertaining to what _actually _happened in the shop."

"You seem sceptical," Narcissa observed, coming to sit across from her son. "Don't believe him?"

"I find it difficult to believe that Harry would punch him in the face for asking about the wedding. It isn't even his wedding. According to Terence, Harry was offended because Terence didn't know the couple and was still attending the wedding. He practically invited himself and I couldn't be rude," Draco sighed and pulled his hair at the roots. "I shouldn't have invited him. I should've—" _Should've gone with Harry?_

"Gone with Harry?" his mother finished knowingly. No surprise came with this bit of insight.

"He's with Charlie anyway."

"Says who? The paper?" Narcissa smiled and laughed lightly. "Can't believe everything you read, can you?"

Draco nodded and put his note away, sealing the box and organising the papers. "Makes sense. Charlie was Harry's first."

She reached over and pat Draco's left knee, squeezing it gently. "You've a package. It's in the kitchen."

"Couldn't have brought it up here?"

"Needed something to coax you down to the living. Get dressed and come down. Karina's gone through six outfits already and I'm old. I can't keep up with her."

So Draco dressed warmly, knowing he would be outside for most of the day. Deciding on a pair of dark grey trousers, which were charmed to keep warm and a black turtle neck, all covered by a charmed black pea coat. If no one had known better, he or she would think he was attending a funeral. He hadn't a jersey to support the Magpies and he hadn't wanted one even when he participated in Quidditch.

Hauling himself down the stairs and into the empty kitchen, Draco looked carefully at the small, book-sized package. He ripped the edges and was startled when the package finished its own job and opened to reveal a sort of card with Hermione and Weasley staring awkwardly back at him.

"Is it on?" the man asked and Draco rolled his eyes at the ginger's stupidity. "Right, so our wedding's next Friday. Um, if you aren't coming, send a gift!"

"Ronald!" Hermione bellowed and pinched his arm, causing the presumptuous arse to quiet down with a whine. "Just a reminder. It's not the largest affair. Feel free to bring a guest; there will be plenty of food and everything. We're looking forward to seeing you!"

Almost sweetly, Weasley wrapped an arm around his fiancé and kissed her hair. Hermione's answering smile was astonishing and Draco could only grin in return.

It was wonderful seeing someone make it.

Even if it was a Weaselbee.

* * *

><p><em>Magpies are up by twenty points in this three-hour game. The Seekers can't seem to locate that Snitch. Perhaps we'll have a final score by Halloween, eh?<em>

"Daddy, I'm bored. When's Harry getting here?"

_Now or never. _"He's not coming, Sweetie."

"Did he get sick?"

"Something like that, yeah," Draco lied, feeling disgusted at his dishonesty.

Karina looked up at him thoughtfully, reproachfully. "We should make him soup and tea. That made me feel better."

"Are you hungry, Honey?" _Anything to get out of here._

The girl nodded. "Can you get me hot chocolate too?"

Draco smiled sadly, his mouth's emotion not reaching his eyes. "Watch Karina for me, Seamus."

"You got it, Boss." As Draco fought through the crowd, he heard his employee attempt to make small talk with his daughter. "So, do you have any idea what's going on?"

The blond wandered into the inner stands. It was eerily empty as the game was thought to end if not now, sooner.

It was wonderful to be so alone for a moment. He could stare off without someone looking at him as though he were clinically insane.

Which he _was_—in his expert opinion.

He looked without seeing at the menu of foods. Noticing right away that he would be purchasing pizza for Karina, but still enjoying the solitude. He'd have to walk to the other side for her drink, but that would be a lovely stroll if the game continued.

"Malfoy."

_The piss?_

Draco glanced over his shoulder to the sight of Harry Potter with a thermos and the opposite team's colours atop his shoulders.

"Potter, what're you doing here?"

"Promised Karina my hot chocolate. Didn't want to disappoint a five-year-old." He handed the container over to the blond and stood back to view his culinary options as well. "How are you?"

The ex-Death Eater shrugged. "I've been better. And worse, so I guess I can't complain."

Silence stretched and Draco watched as Harry shifted from one foot to the other, raked his right hand through his hair and stuffed his left into the pockets of his denims.

"If you want to say something, Potter. Say it."

"I'm sorry I convinced you to tell me something you weren't ready to."

The blond stilled, his heart falling into his stomach. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but not for telling you. Someone should know the truth other than my mother and me. And I—I trust you."

Harry laughed then, igniting a smile on Draco's face as well. "Don't let it get to your oversized head and ego. Everyone trusts you. Even my mother."

Suddenly, there was a burst of sound from the stands and the announcer was heard.

_Higgs snags the Snitch! Magpies win! Magpies win!_

"I better get back. See you around, Harry. I'll make sure Karina gets your gift."

Draco didn't turn back towards the brunet. Though, for reasons unknown, he hoped that Harry would stop him, call him back for…

_For what?_

The saviour was formally taken now. What would he want from Draco? An inexperienced Death Eater and first-rate louse. Harry could do better; he deserved better.

"Draco!" _Damn that fluttering. _He rotated slowly as to not look so eager and was met with an excited Seeker, grinning from ear to ear with excitement. "Did you see that catch?"

Disappointment flooded his insides. "Just missed it, Terence. Sorry. It was a pretty long game and Karina was getting antsy. Had to bring her back something."

"They sell thermoses with hot chocolate, now?"

"Harry brought it for Karina."

Terence pursed his lips in contempt. "Thought he wasn't attending."

"He wasn't. He just dropped this off is all. Still a bit sour about that jaw of yours?" The Quidditch player was still sporting a rather large bump and the edge of his mouth and he covered it self-consciously.

"You could say that. Come on, we're going to celebrate! The whole team's heading out."

"I can't, Terence. I've got a shelter to run. And my daughter to get back to." Something about the resounding ignorance towards Draco's normal responsibilities irked the blond. "Another day."

"Something the matter? I know you're upset about Friday, but I didn't hit back. I wouldn't want to make anyone ashamed of me."

_I'm not ashamed of anyone. Least of all Harry__—__he'd never let anyone get away with much._

"I'm not disappointed or ashamed or anything. But, I do have to be getting back. Great game, Terence." Leaning forward, Draco placed a chaste kiss to the Seeker's cheek.

* * *

><p>The blond sat in his office, scribbling notes for tomorrow's prospective parents. A rap came at the door and Felix stood dejectedly in its way.<p>

"Hello, Felix. How was the game?"

"Fine, Mr Malfoy. Could we talk? I was wondering why Harry won't be here anymore. I just, well, I finally found someone I could talk to about the things that'd happened while I was captured and then he just up and leaves? Something seems funny about the whole ordeal."

Closing his folders and standing to walk towards the boy, Draco searched his eyes, knowing without being told what this boy had experienced. He knew because he was an oppressor too. Perhaps not Felix's, but certainly the villain elsewhere.

"I've always wanted to apologise to you, Felix. For not rescuing you that night as well. I should've been braver. I should have done so many more things." _I shouldn't have done some things either. _"I'm sorry for leaving you behind."

Felix shrugged. "You're here now."

_Is that what counts?_


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter Sixteen_

_Everything was beautiful. _

_From the flowers along the edges of the aisle to the soft whisper of music trilling from the corner of the church. _

_The Muggle wedding was of course perfect as Hermione said it would be. _

_Nearly three hundred people were in attendance, laughing amongst themselves while the groom, groomsmen, and bridesmaids stood waiting in anticipation. _

"_Stop fidgeting, Ron," Harry chastised. "You look ridiculous and that's an expensive tux to be nervous in. Let me be nervous for you." _

_The redhead rolled his eyes and smiled, playfully hitting his best friend. Harry grinned in return, his own chest thumping a bit._

_Calm down, he told himself, you've nothing to be this fussed over. _

_The crowd stilled as the music changed tune and all rose to their feet. _

_From the corner of his eye, the brunet could see Draco and a sudden panic rose within him. Ron hadn't noticed. No one seemed to be paying Harry any mind. He tried, though, to feign calmness. Every now and again, Hermione would make a strange face at him, questioning his own nervousness. _

_Truth be told, he couldn't understand it either._

"_Please be seated," the Minister of Magic boasted from his podium, feeling even more powerful as the 'priest' of this wedding. A mixture of both- traditional with magical bonding. _

_The couple did not turn to each other, but stared at the man before them whilst he beamed in total approval, his normal haughtiness overridden by joy. _

"_We are gathered here today to witness the union of two magically and spiritually compatible souls. Marriage is a life-long journey, whether it's experienced with one partner or a thousand, it is forever changing. If anyone has any reason these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."_

_Harry stilled and glanced about the room, almost waiting for dispute. _

_Ron sighed in relief and the Man Who Lived could hardly contain the snicker rising in his throat. He coughed to deflect his laughter. _

"_May we have the rings?" _

_As the flower girl and ring bearer, Karina stepped forward and presented the two golden bands. Of course, Karina was Hermione's idea as well. _

_Brilliant as always. _

_And she was stunningly beautiful in her golden dress and curled pigtails, held back by golden ribbons. Her cheeks, bright red since her smile hadn't ceased since the wedding began. _

"_The couple has decided to speak their own vows."_

_Ron shifted through his pockets and the audience giggled as he patted his jacket's pockets. _

"_Really, Ron?" Harry mumbled only a moment before a card was presented. _

"_For the love of Merlin, Weasley," the blond could be heard mumbling. The brunet swore his eyes could be heard rolling as well. _

_Glancing over the card, the wizard cleared his throat and shoved the parchment into his vest, taking a breath before beginning, "Draco Lucius Malfoy. You are absolutely, without a doubt in my mind, the biggest pain I've ever experienced both physically or mentally. You're the most psychotic, paranoid, stubborn, bigoted, arrogant, " and then his voice softened, "intelligent, loving- to your daughter- always. To me, well, that depends on the day," Luna's bouncing laugh could be heard above the chorus of strange chuckling, "Clever, beautiful, and kind, when no one is watching, person I have ever had the absolute pleasure of meeting. You know me. You've hated me. And most people wouldn't find that romantic. But, since when are we like most people? There's such a fine line between love and hate, and we've crossed it, Love. I promise, for as long as we live and far after, I'll walk the other side of that line with you." Taking the blond's now trembling hand in his own, Harry slipped the ring onto Draco's left ring finger and kissed the digit. "With this ring, I ask you to be mine." _

_With a tear in his eye, and batting the offensive liquid away, Draco choked back a sob. _

"_Harry James Potter," he began, raking his eyes over the man before him and back to his dressed ring finger. "You talk far too much. I love you more than I ever knew I could, and I find another reason every time I look at you or think of you. You know everything about me and still want to be with me- a miracle if I've ever seen one. Love me with everything you have. Love Karina with all that you have. That's all I ask. And in return, I'll try not to make you run away from me. With this ring, I ask you to be mine." _

_The brunet felt his hand being lifted, never removing his eyes from the blond's. He was truly magnificent. Dressed in black tuxedo with a golden tie while Harry wore a green tie. Each supporting their opposite's House. _

_After a ring was snugly placed near the knuckle of his ring finger, and a light brush of a thumb caressed the band, Harry finally smiled with every ounce of genuine love and adoration for the man in front of him. _

"_I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss your… husband!" _

_Leaning just far enough to feel Draco's warm breath ghost across his lips, Harry stopped, whispering, "Scared, Malfoy?" _

"_You wish," he laughed airily and pressed forward with the crowd erupting in applause behind them. _

"_Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, for the first time- Mister Harry and Mister Draco Potter-Malfoy." _

And Harry awoke in a sweat- a hollow feeling settling in his chest as he realized what today was.

His best friends would be married and this would be his last day in the Wizarding world.

Deciding no more than a week earlier that this was no longer his home, he made his goodbyes, promising not to stay away as long, or to at least allow visitors. Of course, there was one person he hadn't had the chance to see off.

Make that two if you counted the daughter who slithered into his heart as well. And of course she counted, almost as much as Draco.

Yes, the Man Who Lived finally discovered a word for his feelings in regards to the elusive blond.

Love.

The unsettling butterflies, constant migraines, horrid or not-so-horrid dreams, daydreams, jealousy, anger, acceptance of his faults… _everything _stemmed from his love for the ruddy ponce.

And it absolutely terrified him. His promiscuity and aloofness he'd demonstrated while amongst Muggles saved him from this feeling. Love only hurt. Love could never last- especially in this hero's case. Those who loved him seemed to fall the hardest.

The Weasleys.

His parents.

His Godfather.

Lupin and Tonks.

Charlie.

The only person who seemed to last through the curse was Ginny. But, there was the wonderful possibility that she had never really loved him at all.

And, of course, all of this self-loathing wasn't to say Draco loved him. However, if Harry truly loved him, he would let the former Slytherin alone. Pretend as if they never had anything. Go back to what they were brilliant at.

Hating each other and not giving a damn as to what the other was doing.

_Easy._

* * *

><p>The Manor was quiet since the House Elves were providing their services at the center. The three Malfoys prepared for a wedding in separate rooms, even Karina insisted on dressing herself- positively thrilled to wear her dressier shoes and a touch of makeup thanks to her grandmother.<p>

Draco dressed soundlessly in front of a mirror, tying his tie in a basic knot and tucking it into a black vest, which sat snugly against his ribcage beneath a midnight black dress jacket and over top of a black button-up shirt. His skin never looked paler. But a lack of sleep may have contributed to that as well, and lack of regular eating habits, lack of anything other than the center recently.

He studied the reflection staring back. Who was this man? This wasn't the Draco he'd been years ago. This wasn't a boy anymore. His hair was fuller and naturally falling over his left eye. His skin was tighter, the roundness of adolescence completely deteriorated. His eyes were darker, all boyish mischief absent and covered over by shame, regret, and the smallest hint of…

Something else. Something almost reminiscent of hope.

The blond worried himself as of late. It was unnerving how his life was changing so rapidly. In a month's time, he'd opened a highly successful center for orphans, went from straight to gay- in public no less, had been in one male affair and one male relationship, confessed his innermost demons to the one and only Harry James Savior of the World Potter, and as of very late, had been coming closer and closer to complete honesty with the public.

This façade of the perfectly reformed Death Eater who hadn't harmed any at war and simply found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time was a complete fallacy. Every moment he lived was dishonest. No matter what, not disclosing prudent information was just as deceitful as lying.

Would they take Karina away if they knew the truth? He had proof from Elizabeth of her desire for Draco to care for their child. A life was made. Did Karina deserve to suffer the loss of another loved one because of Draco's mistakes? That wasn't fair.

The world had a new picture of Draco. This trial wouldn't drag on for the eternity war brought.

One case.

One girl.

One man.

Not a party of people. They didn't know Draco. They didn't know Karina. And they most certainly hadn't the slightest knowledge of Elizabeth.

They weren't there the day of Draco's initiation. If Karina did not come out of the unforgivable ordeal, he more than likely would have taken his own life. Fortunately, for self-preservation's sake, the young girl was dropped on his doorstep.

His reason to live. His reason to seek redemption even if complete redemption was impossible.

Draco could be happy. He _could. _

But, he needed to come clean.

"Dear, we're ready to leave. Are you about finished?"

Glancing once more at himself in the glass and straightening a cuff without any need, Draco looked to his mother helplessly with mouth gaping.

"I- I want to talk about Karina. Where she came from. Her mother. Everything." His voice shook terribly, and he breathed deeply to resist a larger tremor. "I can't keep evading the subject. Eventually, who I'm with will ask and I'll either lie or tell the truth, in which case, I'll have been lying for the entirety of the relationship."

The woman walked carefully to her son and wrapped her sparkling arms around his shoulders, patting his hair back- the gesture causing him to clench his eyes and grip tightly to her dress. He hadn't realized his trembling until she shushed him into some sedated state.

"Do what you think will heal you, Draco. Don't worry about anything else. I'll be here for you and there are countless others who will stand behind you if you fall. When you succeed."

_Countless? I don't need countless. What I need is-_

"Harry will stand behind you. After all this time, he _always _has."

Pulling away from his mother, Draco stared, wanting desperately to argue with Narcissa, to dispute Harry's knight-in-shining-armor complex.

"He would stand for anyone. Doesn't make me special."

"Find someone else to feed your ego, Darling. I'm your mother. My opinion of you will always be unconditional. If you want to be special to Harry, tell him so. He may be exceptional, but he's no Legilimens."

"I don't want to be special to Harry," the wizard pouted. "I- I have Terence."

Exhaling exasperatedly, Narcissa shook her head. "And of course he's every mother of a homosexual's dream. He's rich, successful, fit, handsome, wonderful with children, sensitive, kind, and just so sure of himself. He's perfect for you. Truly."

_Yes, he is perfect. Wonderful, really. A great catch. _

But, what was missing?

Surely it couldn't be a bloody scar…

* * *

><p>Ginny looked again to her watch and huffed a breath of impatience. Her partner looked at the disturbance the Weasley was creating and squinted in distaste.<p>

"If you have somewhere more important to be, go. I can probably handle the case myself," Pansy hissed, surveying an oddly colored stonewall. The pair was stationed in Norway, coming to a near close on the disappearance of some Muggle born witches and wizards.

"It's my brother's wedding, Finnigan. The ceremony will be done by six at the latest and I can come straight back." _You didn't see me complaining about your month-long honeymoon with Seamus. Hypocritical bitch. _

"Whatever. Don't lose track of time. We're so close to cracking this. And if you leave me with the paper work again, I'll murder you in your sleep. And _that's _a promise." Smiling with a terribly ferocious grin, the witch continued. "Tell Drakey I said, 'Hello.'"

* * *

><p>"Can we stop making today about you? I'm freaking the piss out over here, Harry!" Ron whined- hyperventilating into a paper bag, which George stuffed with pepper, causing the groom-to-be's eyes to turn a watery red and to sneeze uncontrollably. "Dammit, George! I'm a mess. What the hell is wrong with you?"<p>

The twin could hardly contain his laughter as he doubled over from the pain in his ribs. Convulsing from the intense bouts of uncontrollable shaking, he attempted to, at the very least, quell the sound.

Harry, on the other hand, could hardly keep any thought to himself. He'd spent most of the morning recounting his dream to Ron and the others, not having a chance to speak to Hermione and analyze the way only a woman could.

Naturally, the other men decidedly felt uncompelled to dwell on the subject. There was a wedding to adhere to after all. And it just so happened that it wasn't Harry's.

"Sorry, Ron. I'm just confused. And kind of intimidated by Terence." The last bit was a somewhat garbled, but coherent nonetheless.

"Call the presses, Boy Who Lived is scared of a wee Seeker he once kicked the tar out of in his first year. You sound ridiculous, now tie Ron's tie. I'm absolute shite with those things."

"No offense, but that's not the only thing you're terrible at. Sympathizing may be another," Harry proposed with a moderate amount of ire, quickly finishing the knot of his best friend's tie. "I'll be glad to get back home for a while."

Still snickering, George adjusted his cuffs. "None taken. And you're settled on leaving?"

"I think it's best. Coming back was a bit more than I could handle for now. Easier where no one knows my name. No history or back-stories. Just mindless, irresponsible, non-committed relationships. No breakfast the next morning, no cuddling afterwards. I don't even have to remember names."

"Sounds wonderful, Mate. But, I'm about to enter into one of those cuddling after, committed, breakfast, responsible, mindful, you-better-damn-well-remember-my-name relationships within the next hour. So, if you wouldn't mind, save this bachelor shit for someone single. I can't help right now!" Sneezing another six times, Ron went to reassemble his hair, which was rivaling the brunet's with its utter chaos. "George, after I'm married, I'm going to fucking kill you."

Harry pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair, noticing the trembling digits as they created a zigzag pattern on his scalp. "How do you know you're doing the right thing, Ron?"

The man in question shrugged. "Can't imagine being with anyone else. And thinking of being without her scares me. Drives me mental, but in a good way. I'd be crazy _with her_ before I'd be sane with absolutely _anyone else_. We fit each other. She picks up where I leave off- y'know?"

And Harry did know. He understood quite well, actually. Of course, he wished he could pretend Ron was full of it.

When he went home, he decided that's exactly what he would do.

Forget Ron's brief insight. Forget the irrational idea where one person was enough. Forget himself.

Forget Draco.

* * *

><p><em>I'm not making the largest mistake of my life. <em>

Hermione inhaled slowly, frantically trying not to begin crying and smudge her mascara. Her mother filled in for Ginny while the witch _swore _she would be arriving shortly.

"Well, are you ready?" Missus Granger wondered aloud and adjusted the glittering band decorating her hair. "Big step, Darling. And you're so very young."

Following the war, Hermione was able to create a counterspell to the memory charm she'd used on her parents. They remembered her entire life up until she'd cast the words, which would delete her from any existence they may have had with her. Needless to say, they knew nothing of the war and Hermione bit her tongue after the comment about her youth.

She'd seen a lifetime of evil. There was absolutely nothing young about her anymore. War can age a person far beyond his or her time and Hermione felt mentally older than her own mother.

"I'm ready, Mum. I love him- it's just the next step."

The Grangers never were much for sentiment, but this seemed to register as a moment of embrace for the older woman and she wrapped her daughter in her arms- taking mind to avoid touching anything white with her makeup covered skin.

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, Mum," she mumbled, feeling strangely vulnerable. Of course she was making the right decision. She'd loved Ron for ages. They'd been together for years. Perhaps it was excitement flooding her stomach instead of nerves.

He drove her mental, but in a good way. She'd go crazy with him well before she'd become sane without him. He fit her perfectly- picked up where she left off.

Hermione could never fathom a world where Ron didn't exist alongside her. It was simply impossible and made her far more anxious than the excitement ever could.

"Your father's on his way," Ginny breathed, wiping the sweat off of her forehead from sprinting into the small powder room. "You look gorgeous. Ready to walk?"

The witch smiled and nodded once. "As ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

><p>It wasn't perfect.<p>

Ron dropped his ring twice before forcing it painfully onto Hermione's finger and apologizing pitifully. Hermione only grinned and shook her head in amusement, biting back the tear from the pain in her finger. Her fiancé's face, nearly red as his hair, relaxed at her airy laugh.

His vows were atrocious.

"You're probably the prettiest girl I've ever met. But, I haven't met every girl in the world, so I can't say for sure. You're the smartest, too. But, there may be someone smarter, I guess." Harry cleared his throat and muttered a _Ron. _Taking the hint, the redhead attempted to salvage the situation. "The point is, Hermione, I love you. And to me, you'll always be the smartest, most beautiful woman in _my _world. You're my best friend. Thank-you for agreeing to be my wife."

A small chuckle collectively gathered in the church, including Hermione's, which was accompanied by a tiny choked sob.

"I love you too, Ronald," she whispered, raising the corner of her mouth slightly.

"It is my honor to finally announce you husband and wife. Mr. Weasley, you may kiss your bride."

The congregation erupted in a tremendous celebration. Harry scanned the crowd deftly and caught sight of Draco, sitting amongst his mother, daughter, and Terence. The Seeker had his arm wrapped securely about the blond's waist and was whistling through his fingers obnoxiously.

Well, obnoxiously to the Man Who Lived. He bit his cheek to keep himself from adding to the less than conventional ceremony and instead opted to clap along with the rest of the crowd.

For the briefest moment, emerald orbs met with stormy grey and a lump formed in the back of Harry's throat as those eyes darted quickly away, a dash of distaste marring their edges.

Whatever that unsightliness was formed against, Harry could only begin to guess. Terence seemed to developing his own smirk- not rivaling the blond's, but definitely failing at the strong attempt.

Still smiling, Hermione and Ron held hands and thrust them into the air before running off down the aisle. Never had he seen his best friends as happy as they were in this moment. Suddenly, he felt entirely selfish. They'd waited for him. They'd waited for Harry to gain the bit of courage Gryffindor was known for. They postponed the happiness they'd earned just as much as Harry had.

After all this time, the wizard thought he was letting himself live- when in fact he was keeping other lives captive. They were set back.

How utterly charming. Killing a Dark Lord didn't entitle The Chosen One to put everyone else's life on hold.

_What self-righteous bullshit. _

He didn't owe this newly wed couple the home he would present the deed to. He owed a life he could never return, a life they'd given him willingly to assure his own safety. Lives he hadn't asked for… but that's what selflessness was about, wasn't it? Giving your entire self over to something bigger than you could ever dream of for the greater good?

Harry was hardly selfless. Thinking on it, if given the opportunity, his hand wouldn't have touched the war.

_Would it? _

He'd done remarkable things, none of which he could have done alone. Of course Harry wanted the good side to win, but would he have been so passionate about the war if he weren't born with this ridiculous scar plastered to his forehead? Would he have been Ron or Hermione if he weren't the Boy Who Lived?

_Guess we'll never know. _

Taking his turn down the aisle with Ginny at his arm, Harry focused his remaining attention on smiling for cameras and pretending to be exactly what everyone wanted him to be: perfect.

That's what they needed, and today wasn't for Harry.

"Harry, I have to get going back to work. Make my speech for me, will you?" Ginny whispered after their sixth photo.

"Back already? Don't they know it's your brother's wedding? And you're the maid of honor?" Baffled, he took the offered note card and placed it into his jacket pocket.

"They do, but we're just so close to finishing this case. We could potentially find the dozen or so Muggleborns we've been searching for. And Pansy would kill me if I didn't stick around for the paperwork."

"I understand. She never was friendly in school. Why would she change now?"

The redhead laughed, shaking the brunet at her side, "She's actually gotten better since Seamus. But, thank-you. You look very handsome, by the way. Take care."

"You too, Gin."

And with that, she was gone. He realized that she very well could have taken the comment he'd just previously made as a reference towards the handsome bit.

Hopefully she understood.

Trudging alone, he followed the chattering crowd outside where a charmed-to-stay-warm-and-increase-in-size-when-appropriate tent rested nearby. The color scheme was, of course, red and gold and he could only imagine the suicidal thoughts racing through Draco's head in having to suffer through this obscene amount of Gryffindor nonsense. Before he could properly catch himself, he smiled at the Slytherin's probably discomfort and immediately quelled his excitement.

Harry found his table, feeling his inner scowl threatening to break free, and sat. Hermione and Ron were still not present as cocktail hour was about to begin.

He planned on taking full advantage of that as a waitress stumbled his way- more than likely partaking in a touch of the free alcohol as well.

"Can I get you something?" she asked, a tiny hiccup and burp coloring the sentence. "Excuse me." The woman looked too young to drink, possibly seventeen. Her yellow hair pulled back in a red ribbon, and black suit trimmed in gold, she could have passed for fifteen with the non-gender specific costume.

"Do you know what hard liquor is?"

She shook her head. "Beer?"

"Firewhiskey, Love. And don't be stingy. Keep it coming."

* * *

><p>Draco sat between his daughter and date, a fictitious grin painted to his face and an annoying pang at his side. He ignored the alcohol and opted instead for water, not wanting to taint his senses in front of Karina.<p>

"Daddy, when do we start dancing? I wore my fancy shoes."

Despite himself and his self-elected brooding, Draco couldn't stop laughing at the simplicity of the five-year-old. Leave it to someone barely breaching a decade to ruin all plans for a depressing evening.

"Soon, sweetheart. People are going to talk for a bit- then we have cake."

"No one told me there's cake! Grammy, why didn't you tell me there was cake?"

The woman gritted her teeth at an almost audible volume. "Didn't want to get you too excited."

"Does Harry get to talk? Because he was up front with Mister Ron?" she wondered in innocent curiosity. "He looked really good on stage. Do you think he'll dance with me, Daddy? I look really pretty today."

"I think he'd dance with you even if you weren't as gorgeous as you always are," the blond man promised, kissing the top of his daughter's head and taking charge of cutting her meal into smaller pieces.

"Potter's quite the lush this evening," Terence commented and jerked his head towards the main table under the tents. There seemed to be ten or so shot glasses in front of him and he was downing another as the conversation continued. Neither Weasley nor Hermione seemed to pay him any mind. Too lost in each other to notice. "His speech should be hilarious to be sure."

As if on cue, Harry began to tap his glass with a butter knife. The sound was muffled by the contents within, but the Man Who Lived quickly drained the remaining champagne and stood a bit shakily, smiling with every tooth visible.

"Hello everyone!" he shouted before someone handed the man a microphone. "Is this on? Fantastic. Can everyone hear me?" Still, he shouted and Hermione slapped herself with the palm of her hand. Her husband started to convulse with laughter, along with his brother, George. "So, we're at a wedding for Ron and Hermione. And let me tell you, if I was at all straight, I would be so all over this woman, it's ridiculous!" The party seemed cautious of their own amusement and a few hushed snickers could be heard in the otherwise dead silence. "Tough crowd. Um, so, Ginny had to do some secret Aurory spy work and asked me to read her speech. Ehem. Ron, you're the luckiest person alive, don't screw this up. Hermione, you look absolutely stunning. If my brother gives you any trouble, I know thirteen different ways to kill a man without a wand or weapon. I've never been lucky enough to see two people as made for each other as you both are. Let life come at you. You'll be perfect. All my love, Ginevra."

The small sentiment was welcomed with applause as Harry tapped the glass again to continue. Draco tried desperately to look away from this likely train wreck of a speech, but could not seem to focus elsewhere.

"Woman's got a way with words, eh?" _Hiccup. _"Yeah, anyway. When Ron asked me to be his Best Man, I wasn't at all surprised. Who wouldn't want Harry Potter as their Best Man?" He gestured two thumbs at himself and nodded in agreement- with his own statement. "I'm just teasing. I was so excited! I'd get to go tie shopping and suit shopping, and well, that about ends my list of duties. But, yeah, Ron's such a good guy. Like, the best mate anyone could ever ask for." He placed a heavy hand on the groom's shoulder and shook him almost violently. "Don't argue. You're so brilliant, Mate. Really and truly. And Hermione- you know I would have been your Maid of Honor, too. If I hadn't a penis and all that." Walking behind the couple, he wrapped the two in his arms, the microphone constantly tapping against Weasley's chin. "You both could possibly be the luckiest people alive. Don't fuck this up. It isn't often you find someone so right for you that it almost seems blasphemous to look elsewhere for your happy ending. And speaking of those- if I believed they existed, I would guarantee yours. Cheers, everyone!"

Throwing back one more shot of something brown, Harry grimaced and sat slumping in his chair. Hermione was scarlet from embarrassment and the man at her side just seemed tickled with bemusement at his best friend's intoxication.

"Words of wisdom from the Boy Who Lived. Amazing how much he's changed since the war, eh?"

"Did you even know him before the war?" Draco wondered, letting a touch more malice slip between syllables than he would have liked.

"Can't say I've had the pleasure, but I don't remember him knocking blokes in the face or getting pissed at weddings."

"Still bitter about that jaw? He's always been an act first, think later kind of guy." _I have the scars to show for it. _"Hermione's even thrown a punch my way back in school. They weren't perfect, you know. Survived on the right side is all. People forget that." Looking up to the drunken Chosen One whilst he talked nonsense to Luna's stomach, Draco quirked the corner of his mouth upward in a gentle smirk. "He's human. We all are."

"S'pose you're right. Can't argue with someone as good-looking as you, y'know? Gets me nowhere pretty fast." The compliment did nothing for Draco aside from create an uncomfortable tension. "Guess he'll be back off to the Muggles soon?"

The blond cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, he should be. Probably after this evening. Can't see him sticking around for anything." _Can't bring myself to hope either. _

"Is Charlie going with him? Since their together and all." Terence didn't look at Draco while saying this, only at his plate. Something wasn't quite right, but the younger wizard hadn't the energy to decipher through his coding.

"I don't know. Didn't discuss it with him," he admitted, taking an unnecessarily large gulp of water.

"Would you want to get married?" And he regretted immediately taking that drink as the contents spurted outwards, nearly drenching a stranger if his force would have been a Newton stronger. "I didn't mean _now_. Eventually."

"I-I never really thought about it. It's a bit difficult with Karina."

"Well, let's settle it, then. Karina, would you want your father to get married?" he asked the child who was wiping her sullied hands on the tablecloth as to avoid her dress.

She shrugged. "I guess. If I got to be the flower girl. And wear a pretty dress. And Grandma could be there. And if Daddy wanted to marry Harry, it'd be okay."

"Karina!" Narcissa chastised. "Please don't say things like that in front of Mister Higgs. It's not nice."

"It's quite all right, Missus Malfoy. You really like Harry, don't you, Karina?"

"Daddy likes Harry, so I like Harry. He told him about Mum, and Daddy doesn't like to talk about her with anyone but me and Grammy. You tell people you like secrets. Harry's a good secret keeper and he's nice to me and Daddy."

"Karina, how did you know-."

"I heard you talking a few days ago," she interrupted. "You're always afraid people will get mad and Harry didn't get mad. He brought me hot chocolate."

Music began to play and Draco thanked God he had no intention of ever believing in for the brief distraction. Of course, Karina shot from her chair, dragging her father alongside her and forcing him to lift and twirl her until she was absolutely nothing but fits of giggles and squeals.

Terence, his mother, and even Hermione stepped in to dance- her face beaming with genuine bliss.

"Beautiful, Hermione. Honestly, you look perfect. That extra bit of blush even suited you during Harry's speech."

The witch buried her face in Draco's shoulder. "That was a disaster. But, I wasn't watching him. Otherwise, he wouldn't be nearly as pissed. I can promise you that."

"It was funny. Definitely lightened the mood."

"I'm sure he'll saunter his drunk arse over here eventually. Being his last night and all, he'll want to speak with you. Take everything he says with a grain of salt. Drunken slurs are sober thoughts and all that."

His eyebrow rose in confusion. "What could he want to talk to me about?"

Hermione sighed and leaned forward to kiss Draco's cheek and excuse herself to dance with someone else. "Use your imagination, dear."

And no sooner did the hopelessly gone Harry Potter begin dancing with Karina, throwing her high into the air and catching her bridal style to spin her in quick circles, which would have made any sober man dizzy. He wondered idly about the tolerance Harry had built for the drink and lost himself in the sound of his dearest child's giggling.

As the song changed to a slower tune, he found his daughter with Harry in tow, beaming brightly. The Man Who Lived, on the other hand, looked entirely nervous and willing to do just about anything to be anywhere else.

"Daddy, will you dance with Harry? Please? It would make me _sosososo happy!_"

"Honestly, Draco. You don't have to- She was just so excited and I didn't-."

Waving his hands in dismissal, Draco winked at his daughter. "I'd be delighted."

Even if he weren't strangely infatuated with the wizard, he wouldn't have traded the world to miss the now comically wide eyes and gaping jaw of his former enemy at the statement.

He offered his hand to the brunet and decided not to laugh in irony as it was accepted. Harry treaded backwards into the crowd and pulled Draco gently into the cage his arm created around the lower part of his back. With chests pressed together, the Man Who Lived rested his chin on the blond's shoulder. His breath tickled warmly and Draco succumbed to closing his eyes and basking in this foreign feeling. He could feel small circles rubbed into the small of his back, producing a series of shudders to rumble through his insides. Harry seemed to notice as his breathing changed to a chuckle.

"Sensitive spot?"

"Guess so," Draco confessed in hushed tones, unwilling to ruin whatever moment this was. "The last time I'd seen you dance must've been at the Yule Ball. You're better than I gave you credit for."

"I was terrible. No credit needed." A comfortable silence fell. "I'm leaving tonight."

"I know."

"I didn't really get a chance to say goodbye to you or Karina," he continued.

"I know."

Harry stilled and pulled away slightly to look up at Draco's searching gaze. "Will she be okay? I would hate for someone she cared about to leave her again. I know how that can feel."

"I think she'll miss you, Potter." His voice was still low- the statement obviously directed towards his daughter and perhaps himself.

"Terence will take care of her," Harry played along, just as quietly. "I'm sure of it."

"Not the same, is it? Is Charlie going with you when you leave?"

"Why would Char-."

Suddenly, the pair was interrupted by the previously mentioned Seeker. "Mind if I cut in? Nice to see you, Potter. Quite the speech you gave."

"I've sobered up a bit since then."

The returning laugh was hard and malicious. "Enough not to trip over Draco's feet, I see. But, hey, good luck to you and Charlie when you ship off. I'm sure you'll both be mindlessly happy together."

"Where do you get off? I told you I wasn't with Charlie. Or you've forgotten that busted face of yours? I'd be happy to remind you otherwise."

"Steady, Boy Wonder," he teased in mock defeat. "Must've been a misunderstanding."

Draco hadn't time to discover if it were a misunderstanding or not. Harry skulked off, a visible rage cascading off of his shoulders and adding a funny taste to the magic milling about the room.

"I have to be going, Draco. Practice in the morning. Your mum told me to tell you she'd gone and taken Karina home. It's well past her bedtime and all."

"You knew Harry wasn't with Charlie?'

"Does that matter?" he asked incredulously. "You're not with him. You're with me."

The blond took off quickly in Harry's direction, following that thick mop of hair and knowing it anywhere.

_Does it matter? _

The tailed man was leaving the tent and seemed to be rushing in the direction of a small pond. The sky was darker than the tent allowed one to perceive. Stars decorated both above and below in reflection. The Chosen One sat cross-legged at the edge of the pool, which was luckily still heated under the charm.

"What'd you run off for?" Draco called, still maintaining his pace to the former Gryffindor and sitting beside him.

"I'm not with Charlie, Draco. You know the papers just feed people rumors to entertain. I wouldn't have- I _couldn't have _done that to you. Or him."

"Why does it matter?"

Harry disregarded the question. "Did I ever really tell you about why I left?" The blond wizard shook his head. "Ginny threatened to tell everyone about me cheating on her with her own brother. She was going to start the first true scandal in a lifetime all over a broken heart. She gave me a choice- either come out to the public and allow her the pitied satisfaction, or she would tell the truth. Naturally, I didn't care. But, for Charlie's sake, I came out. I gave her what she wanted. And then I left, unable to cope with the cameras and journalists trying to catch me at inopportune moments in my life just for fifteen minutes of fame. Charlie ran away immediately. I hated what I'd done to the two of them. I tore them apart simply by letting them love me. In the Muggle world, I was more careful. I never became close with anyone. And then I get here, and you're still here, and still as big of a prick as I remembered." He finished with a laugh and uncorked the bottle of champagne he'd been hiding. "Want a drink? It's really expensive."

"There should probably be one sober person here, Potter."

"Afraid to get a bit shitfaced with me, Malfoy?" Harry drawled, an immeasurable amount of the liquid draining into his system. "I'm great fun once I've had a few. Charlie wasn't. Made me bottom, that one did. The liquor didn't complain though, so neither did I. He didn't even prepare me. It was his first time, y'know. And he _loved _me. Hot enough body at the time. And I was so sad. I needed a pretty body. You have a pretty body."

The drink seemed to be settling fast. He'd regret everything in the morning.

"That's all you ever think about, isn't it?"

Slowly, Harry faced the blond, his eyes glazed over in his stupor. "Not true. I dream about you lots. About snuggling and marrying you. But, then, I remember you said you were a monster. You're not a monster. I'm Harry Potter- I know all about monsters. I'm like a super hero. I beat up bad monsters. And you're not bad."

"Harry," he breathed painfully. "You wouldn't understand."

"Help me understand, Draco. I want to. Pretty please?"

The blond looked torn. Isn't this what he'd wanted? To confide in _someone?_ To confide in _everyone? _

"You won't remember any of this will you?" he wondered quietly to himself.

"Probably maybe not so."

_Not quietly enough. _

But, that's the thing about weddings, they always make you think about yourself.

_Ruddy bastards. _

"Potter, I-."

"It's Harry," he interjected haughtily, puffing his chest out and jabbing himself in the rib cage. "I don' like when you call me Potter. It makes me sad." Said wizard's lip stuck in the most endearing pout and for a moment, Draco contemplated the lush's possible sobriety. He must be at least somewhat conscious of himself to know just what to say and do to make Draco feel so-

_Fucking Merlin, Harry. _

How could he argue with that face? It was nearly as troublesome as Karina's. "Fine, Harry. Do listen and don't comment until I'm rightly finished. Got it?"

The swaying man nodded enthusiastically and zipped an imaginary zipper across his mouth, stuffed his hands into the well his crossed legs created, bounced once and waited.

"I received the mark before sixth year. There are rituals involved that I feel no need to divulge into. Those are my own personal scars and no one else's. For one of the acts, we were made to forcibly remove the innocence of a Muggle born.

"About ten years prior to my initiation, my parents sent me to this Child Wizard Camp in Switzerland. You'd learn about former witches and wizards, how to control the raw magic that children are blessed with, and you'd meet your own kind.

"It just so happened that Elizabeth was also sent there for that particular summer.

"And she was lovely, Harry. The very best friend I could have asked for at the time. I'd never known anyone with Muggle parents and she was fascinating. They drove in cars and spoke on telephones. Watched television and played something called golf. Her mother was an engineer of sorts and her father was a teacher. I never really understood what an engineer was. But, it was oddly intriguing nonetheless.

"I never saw her again after that summer. We never wrote to each other or met each other's families. She was a Muggle's child after all and my father detested Muggles. Until the day he died, he _still _blamed them for everything. And you, but that's to be expected.

"Now, back to Hogwarts. I received the mark in between fifth and sixth. You were given it unknowing as to what you needed to do in order to be deemed _worthy _of the ink."

Blinking- trying to remind himself of the present, he removed his jacket, unbuttoned the sleeve of his left arm and rolled the fabric to his elbow, revealing the faded tattoo.

"They had me enter a room full of people my age and younger. Told me to choose my test. I was confused at first. Hadn't I completed initiation? The proof was burning through to my bones by this point. The Death Eater at my side, whom I later found out to be one of my distant uncles, explained to me exactly what I would do.

"Everything went numb at that point. I didn't really see anyone or anything until Elizabeth.

"I hadn't seen her in ten years, but she hadn't aged a day aside from height. She was terrified, but she recognized me. She knew me- I saw it in her eyes. I didn't speak. I pointed at her and my uncle led us to another room. Something was set so that it knew when the task was complete. It wasn't bugged though… They wanted these demons between the victim and us only. Your own slice of hell, I suppose.

"The door shut behind us and I looked at her. Only looked. I was supposed to erase her memory as well. Before we began of course. I couldn't do it. I didn't do it. Instead, she just blinked at me. I started crying and I hadn't even touched her. Before I knew it, she was comforting me. _Me. _Her supposed _friend _who was about to _rape her. _I told her what I was supposed to do and she understood. _She fucking understood."_

A single frustrated tear streamed down the blond's face, and Harry watched its path with full attention. Draco felt something warmer against his cheek- Harry's hand, brushing away that stray tear.

Looking into clouded green eyes, the former Slytherin swallowed thickly.

"Stop," he murmured, the tone entirely sympathetic.

Draco shook his head, knocking the hand from his face. "I can finish." _I have to finish. _

A tingle flushed through his arm as he glanced downward to see the Man Who Lived tracing his mark with the tip of his finger. "So, finish." That finger soon found its place in Draco's hand and he interlocked their fingers. "I'm listening."

The trembling wizard closed his eyes tightly and released the breath he'd been withholding.

"She told me that it would be okay. She… gave me permission… t-to do what I needed to do. It was my first time. And her first time. She thanked me. For not leaving her for someone else. If it had to happen, she was glad it was me. Someone who knew her and didn't want to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I needed her to act then. To pretend I'd taken her memory from her. She didn't feel violated or harmed, but I disagreed. There was no convincing her, naturally. So, I asked her to pretend. The longer she pretended, the longer she would stay alive.

"They tossed her back in with Felix. A day later, I snuck her out. Gave her the address to the Manor and told her if she ever needed me after this war was over, to look me up.

"The war ended and I never heard from her. Not until Karina that is. She was dropped off at my door with a note. I never needed to read it to know she was Elizabeth's daughter. Gods, they're practically twins from another time. One look in her eyes told me she was mine.

"I wish I would've known. I wish I had helped raise our daughter. I wish I could've apologized one more time before she passed.

"The sickest part is I'm not sorry. Being sorry would mean being sorry for having Karina. And I love her so much, Harry. She's my world. Every bit of good out there is in her. I can't forgive myself, but I can't regret either."

Draco could hear the even breathing next to him, could feel the hand in his own tighten and loosen, could taste the tension spilling out into the air.

"I don't think you should keep punishing yourself, Draco. It's not a mistake that Karina's here right now. She was meant to exist. And you're the most wonderful father to her. I'd attest to that in court if necessary."

The blond refocused on Harry's face, studying for sincerity. "You mean it?"

As if he were searching for a similar answer, the Chosen one simply stared in return. He leaned forward, glancing from Draco's lips to his eyes and back again. Instead of kissing him, what the former Slytherin anticipated, he pressed their foreheads together, close enough to share the same air.

"Let me take care of you tonight," Harry said softly, running his free hand through Draco's hair.

"You're drunk," he replied, wondering if it honestly mattered.

"Haven't been since we danced. Figured you wouldn't talk to someone sober. Sorry for the deceit."

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Draco practically launched himself at the brunet, savagely attacking this mouth with his own. Pouring the entirety of anxiety and turmoil into this kiss, the blond bit at his company's lower lip, causing Harry to yelp in shock and the hand in his hair to pull. With the captive mouth stuck from surprise and a slight pain, his tongue dove into the almost offered, hot, wet cavern.

"You're leaving," he mumbled, moving to Harry's neck and sucking on a rather erogenous spot just below his chin, a light keen alerting him of his success.

"I have to."

"Why?" Draco almost whined- all thoughts of the prosperous future with Terence forced to the farthest edges of his mind.

"Can we not talk about it? Please, Draco? Just- just let me take you. Please."

"Will you be there in the morning?" he questioned bashfully with wishful thinking.

Kissing Draco's cheek, Harry smiled sadly. "Probably not. I don't belong here anymore."

He couldn't understand the Boy Who Lived when they'd met ten years ago, so why would he ever be competent enough to understand this man now? Decided, he brought their conjoined hands to his mouth and pressed a feather-light kiss to Harry's knuckles.

"Have me, then."

* * *

><p>The questioning area was split in two sections. The captured on one side and the criminals on the other. Of course, Pansy wanted to question the captors, knowing she could play a rousing game of 'bad cop, bad cop' with herself.<p>

That left Ginny with the captives. Not that she minded or anything in the likes, she simply wanted the option before she chose the easier side.

Her first victim looked to be around her own age, long black hair falling over her pale face. She didn't seem frightened or worried, only preoccupied in her own thoughts.

"Hello, Miss. I'm Ginevra Weasley. Please, can I help you?"

"Weasley?" she repeated, looking up with strangely green eyes, which were tainted with confusion and some sort of recognition. "You went to Hogwarts."

"I did. Perhaps you heard of my brother. He was an Undesirable during the war."

Ginny couldn't have recognized anything about this woman- no matter how desperately she tried.

"Did you know Draco Malfoy?"

"I- Of course. He was a year before me. Just left him at my brother's wedding. Were you close with him? Would you like to see him?"

The woman stilled, her eyes darting from one end of the room to the other and eventually returning to the red-haired witch.

"Where's my Karina? I want to see my daughter."


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter Seventeen_

Harry blinked heavily, reminding himself of his current location and mental status. The grass crunching beneath him was certainly real. The breeze wafting into his tousled hair must be real, considering the chill trickling through his slightly sweat-dampened skin.

And the man in front of Harry, biting at a visibly chapped lip, looking anywhere but at him, twisting his fingers into a terribly impressive knot, and shifting his posture from hunched to absurdly stiff in his discomfort, must be real.

Without pinching himself for dramatic effect, the Chosen One decided he wasn't as intoxicated as Draco thought him to be. There was, indeed, an open invitation to _take _the blond in whatever way seemed most fitting. Until the opportunity presented itself, he didn't think conquering the former Slytherin was possible, probable or even desired. Perhaps that last bit was false. However, it wasn't nearly as pertinent as recent past dictated. Only in dreams did Harry ever allow his mind to wander near thoughts of Draco, and never once had those dreams encountered any sort of the primal lust he'd been so accustomed to. In fact, they were sweet. Not fairytale sweet, of course. But, they could equate to some preteen soap opera with an excessive amount of friendly drama.

The Sorting Hat could have very well misplaced him since Hufflepuff seemed to be suiting him rather well.

Draco fell closer to Harry, an excruciatingly slow centimetre at a time. Unsure, he presumed, of what the connotation entailed. After every new bit of ground breached, the blond would recoil slightly, caught in turmoil far too deep below the surface for Harry to truly judge.

The brunet had been there before.

Constantly battling between what was right and what was preferred. Tragically, neither seemed to fall in the same category. He hadn't always had himself figured out sexually. Nearly a year passed in the Muggle world before Harry had become … whatever he deemed himself.

Confidence—something the Former Slytherin exuded extensively in any other venue but this one. Bashfully, his long, nearly translucent lashes shaded the bright flame in his cheek. Draco's tongue unconsciously lapped at his dry lips and his eyes finally sought Harry's in nervous hesitation. Twice in his life had he seen the man so vulnerable.

Both moments of defencelessness brought on by the Man Who Lived. In hindsight, perhaps Draco was making himself sick in sixth year because of what he'd done to Elizabeth. And seeing Harry, the need for Death Eaters, turned him over the brink of insanity. The second, even as Harry's face was swollen beyond recognition, he could certainly see the terror planted firmly within the blond's grey eyes. As he lied _for _Harry. _For _this _boy _he'd been raised to hate. Whether consciously or not, Draco fought with Harry. Right alongside him. Of course he'd made mistakes, but he was human.

They all were.

"Potter," Draco whispered against the wind, and the brunet needed to move in to hear. "Either you like to see me suffer against myself or you're hardly paying attention to me. Neither will do. So, please, do _something_."

Ah, there was the prat he'd grown to despise so strongly it bordered on infatuation and missed in these moments of complete discourse.

"Well, unless you've become an exhibitionist since I've last seen you, we may want to go elsewhere."

For a moment, it seemed as if Draco was actually contemplating the idea, his head altering between Harry and the reception.

"We really only need one established whore in this scenario, eh, Harry?"

_Can't say I missed everything_.

Shaking his head and smiling despite his best efforts, Harry unwound Draco's slightly trembling hands and laced his fingers instead.

"Care to break in Grimmauld Place?" A sly smirk played at the edge of the former Slytherin's mouth while his light brow arched in interest.

"Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Charlie scanned the crowd, wondering to himself if anyone noticed the scene created by the Man Who Lived, the Seeker of the Magpies and his date, Draco Malfoy. Judging by absolute lack of interest, if anyone paid any sort of mind, they hardly displayed a blip of concern.<p>

He paced to his younger and most recently wedded brother. Ron absolutely beamed and for the smallest moment, the eldest Weasley brother felt an irrational sort of envy for him and brushed it away immediately.

The pair was laughing as he intruded upon their publically private moment.

"Hey Ron, Hermione," he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. "Happen to hear the fuss Harry, Malfoy and Higgs were making?"

The witch rolled her eyes and shrugged. "I had a feeling Harry was going to make an arse out of himself even after the toast."

"Oh, I thought it'd be worse. Open bar wasn't your best idea, Love." Again, she shrugged right before Ron dipped her nearly to the ground only to pull her against his chest again in a frenzy of giggles. "No, Charlie. Didn't hear what the commotion was about. I think Higgs is still here if you wanted to ask him. Over by the bar." Tossing his head in the direction of the alcohol table, Charlie followed diligently and spotted the Seeker easily, considering most of the guests nearest to him were all red-haired.

"You're not going to make a fool out of yourself?" Ron asked with minimal concern, almost as if he were egging him onward to just that notion.

"If I can help it," he promised with a grin and took his leave. The man self-consciously patted back his hair and tucked it behind his ears before adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Oh, hello. Charlie, right?" the brunet politely offered, throwing back what looked and smelled like brandy. From the aroma wafting off the Seeker and the glazed look in his eye; it certainly wasn't his first drink of the evening. "How can I help you, Sweetheart? Wanna dance or something?"

"No, thank-you, Terence. Just wondered what all the fuss was about earlier. Saw Harry storm off with a bottle of champagne with Malfoy at his heels."

Terence snorted uncontrollably and tapped the table for a refill. "Don't like Draco all that much, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

Gulping back another and wincing with a visible shake and scrunched face, the Seeker called again for a new glass.

"Pretty damn obvious Harry's got a thing for him. And you've got your knickers in a twist for the Chosen One. Everyone can see that too. I can see why you wouldn't like Draco. I hate Harry for the same reason. Though, I can't see the big deal about the little wanker. Sure, he killed the Dark Lord, but I've read the articles. Dumb fucking luck—the whole thing!"

_Someone could probably die drinking all of that at one time_.

"He couldn't just stick to Weasels! Like he's collecting them all or something. Wouldn't be surprised if he fucked the groom and at least the dead one before he kicked it."

"You son of a bitch!" Charlie bellowed and curled his fish in a punch, which landed on the opposite side of Harry's previous hit. His knuckles seemed to seize up at the force of the blow and he hopped backwards, clutching the pained appendage while the Seeker fell to the ground after spitting blood and possibly a tooth.

"What the hell?" he screeched, holding his chin in his hand to assess the damage. "Why does everyone keep fucking hitting me in the face? I get paid for this face!"

"Say one. More. Thing. About. My. Brother," he barked. "Where do you get off, huh? Harry's ten times the man you'll _ever be_.And not because he's the Chosen One or because he fought and killed Voldemort." Charlie bent to one knee, dropping his bruised hand to the side and locking Terence's gaze with a steady and hardened glare. "He's a better man because even though he probably loves Draco, he'll spare him. He'll walk away. Would _you _walk away if he needed it?"

"I hardly know him. How would I know what I'd do? I don't know what he needs yet. They've known each other for years."

"Grow up, then. If you're better than Harry, prove it. Quit acting like a child—spewing stories meant to sway him in your direction. I don't like Draco—for more reasons than you'll be able to comprehend—but I can sympathise with him. He's been through more than I have and he deserves more than this." Standing, he pulled the injured man to his feet, found a discarded napkin on the stool nearest him, and wiped a stray line of browning blood from the Seeker's lip. "Clean yourself up, you look terrible."

Turning on his heel, Charlie made leave of the party. Staring holes into the ground, he smiled with a sense of accomplishment. From somewhere in the room, the redhead heard the unmistakable whistling of his brother George's approval.

* * *

><p>Luna returned to her husband with an orange juice in one hand and an apple juice in the other. Recently, she decided if she were unable to drink, her husband would be sober as well.<p>

It really was fair after all.

"See, it almost looks like alcohol, but it's much sweeter and you won't feel dizzy after," she sung happily, as George added to the chorus with a groan.

"I want to feel dizzy. My baby brother's married, Luna! Surely you can appreciate the gravity of the situation."

"And surely you can appreciate the two babies I have roasting in the oven, Dear. If you'd like, you can drink now and we'll simply get you pregnant next. Male Posher Elves carry babies all the time, so it shouldn't be too hard to modify your insides. May have to grow out your nose and cut your height in half, though." If he hadn't known his wife better, he may have thought her to be clinically insane.

Fortunately, he hardly needed to guess.

She was terribly touched in the head and he would never have it any other way.

"I think I'll just stay off of the drink for the next few …" George stretched the final syllable, unknowing as to when his wife would be due.

"Weeks, Love."

"Weeks? We haven't done a damn thing for the twins! We don't even have names!" The Weasley brother began to hyperventilate, clutching his chest as though his heart may leap right out if he weren't careful.

Luna patted her husband gently on the shoulder. "What do you think I've been doing since you've been with your family recently?"

"Honestly? I thought you were talking to yourself and the imaginary pixies for the past month."

The witch slapped her husband with a tad more force than necessary. "They're not imaginary. You just can't see them because you don't have a black freckle on your left elbow."

"Neither do you! You don't even have freckles, Luna!" Seeming to forget the drink in his hand, the contents sloshed onto his white dress shirt as his arms flailed. "Dammit! I don't even drink and I ruin a rented shirt."

"You shouldn't curse around the babies."

He released a loaded sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know. I'm just, well, I don't know if I'll—"

Luna took both of the muttering man's hands in hers and placed them on her hardly showing belly. "Fred would be so proud of you, Sweetheart. We'll name both after him if you'd like."

Feeling his eyes well with the pride he knew his deceased brother would have felt, the happiness he would have shown, the mayhem he would have caused, and the _life _he would have taught his niece or nephew, George moved his thumb in a circular motion around his wife's stomach and smiled in nostalgia.

"What if they're both boys or both girls?"

She laughed then and stood on her toes to peck the wizard's cheek in a light kiss.

"Less to remember, Love."

* * *

><p>Harry stomach lurched with the intensity of the Apparation. Perhaps he was a bit more excited than he let on.<p>

On the same ledge of the doorstep, Draco seemed nearly as breathless and was idly fiddling with his thumbs in a manner Harry presumed to be nervous habit.

_And utterly endearing _…

This may have been the absolute worst idea he'd ever had. Not a chance in hell would he make it out of tonight alive.

_Keep it fast. Get it out of your system. Move on to the next bloke you see._

The _current bloke_ was removing imaginary dirt from beneath his nails and blowing a strand of hair from his eyes. Surely, Harry couldn't be blamed for taking the opportunity to lift the preoccupied and now alarmed blond into his ready arms and carry the unconvincingly unwilling man through the door.

"I'm not a child, Potter. Kindly put me down." The request was entirely half-hearted as a pair of bony arms stayed locked securely around Harry's throat—even as his legs were back on the ground. The burnet created a cage about Draco's lower back and gently pulled the man forward until their chests nearly brushed and they were practically sharing the same air. The former Slytherin's breath seemed strangled and the Man Who Lived took the liberty of placing a chaste kiss to his chin in support.

"Come see the bedroom?" he offered as a suggestion. Harry'd been here before—the virgin. He wished, when he cared enough to do so, that someone had been moderately considerate of his unconscious fears. Options would have been wonderful. Personal decisions. "If you'd like."

Draco nodded in response and released his hold, taking Harry's hand without prompting or the sarcastic chuckle the Chosen One had grown so accustomed to.

Together, they ascended the stairs slowly and wandered to the third room on the left side. Harry turned the knob of the door, whispered an _Incendio_towards the fireplace and led Draco inside, dropping their hands and allowing the man to adjust to the new scenery. The blond swallowed thickly and his heartbeat was remarkably audible. Cautiously, Harry made move to stand behind Draco, wrap his arms loosely around the other man's waist and rest his chin atop his right shoulder. In a moment of panic, Draco stiffened, but soon relaxed into Harry's embrace with a tiny sigh. Something did not sit right with this complacency.

Where'd the fight leave?

Why was this man _giving _himself away? Half of his allure came from that excessively stubborn need to combat with all suggestions from an outside party.

Pressing a hot mouth to the column of neck offered to the elements, Harry licked a small stripe from the top of Draco's collar to the bottom of his ear lobe, taking mind to bite incredibly gently and pull away just as quickly.

"You're tense," he said in observation, moving his hands to the buttons of Draco's dress coat and undoing them one at a time before removing the clothing from his shoulders and dropping it to the floor. Without any sort of haste, Harry ran his fingers deftly over the snaps of his shirt next, revealing nearly-impeccably, flawlessly, smooth skin. The backs of Harry's knuckles swiped casually over the exposed flesh and felt a shiver pass through his counterpart. "Talk to me," Harry whispered, finishing the buttons and loosening the tie around Draco's neck to slip it over his head and add both articles to the collection piling on the floor. "What are you thinking about?"

_Breaking rule number one_—_no thinking_.

"I'm trying not to think," the blond mumbled almost incoherently.

"Draco, we don't have to—"

Turning abruptly, Draco bore daggers into Harry's troublesome gaze. "I can handle anything you can, _Potter_. Get the pity out of your voice. I'm not some blushing virgin." Emphasising the point very clearly, he took hold of Harry's lower anatomy through his trousers and was answered with a choked gasp from the Man Who Lived.

Harry winced as he removed the callous contact, failingly attempting to ignore the fear evident in those oppressive grey orbs.

"I won't make you do anything you aren't ready for, Draco."

Puffing an airy laugh and rolling his eyes, the blond stepped backwards and away from Harry, giving the brunet a better view of his half-naked form. His chest was almost flawless, blushed slightly red in his heated condition, and marred only slightly by a long, thin scar from their sixth year. His arm moved on its own accord and stretched out to meet the damaged skin, skimming it carefully but purposefully. He wanted to apologise, but Draco hated pity. An explanation wouldn't remedy the situation. If anything, it would only exacerbate the moment.

"Don't apologise, Potter. It's my favourite scar." Harry ceased his touch and jerked his appendage from its position.

_That's an odd thing to say _…_ why would that be his __favourite_…

Draco muttered something under his breath and before Harry could decipher the phrases, the blond's skin began to change. Smaller scars decorated the translucent skin above his breastbone and just below his navel. A small, but visible, dip sat randomly indented into his left bicep, but the most horrid sight may have been the scarring across Draco's mark.

"A glamour," Harry reasoned. "Why on some and not all?"

The man shrugged without answering, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest to hide the bulk of the scars. Harry stepped uncomfortably close in complete silence, untangling those same arms and simply taking time to visualise each story he'd never hear—to memorise each victory of survival.

Harry had his own scars. His own trophies.

Without being told, Draco reached over to Harry's shirt—his jacket, vest, and tie all left behind at the reception. The brunet waited on baited breath, studying the lines of focus created on the blond's brow as he undid the garment. Although his fingers did shake, the wizard was terribly precise, the tip of his tongue darting out in absent thought and causing a somewhat pleasant churning to stir within the Saviour's stomach.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Draco asked with the smallest tinge of ire.

"Like what?"

"Like you want to say something. Like you're studying me. It's unnerving." Pushing the cloth over Harry's shoulders, the shirt fell with a light, wispy, thud. Still, the Man Who Lived wore a white undershirt and Draco eyed its hem for acquiescence.

The former Gryffindor nodded once and felt bumps rise against his skin as the blond's nails scraped ticklish bits of his sides. The look crossing Draco's features must have been similar to the very same face Harry made earlier. His head fell to the side in thought and his hands twitched with what seemed to be a desire to explore. Luckily, Harry needn't lull him in this instance.

"So different," he muttered to himself, touching a burn mark dwelling a fraction of a space lower than Harry's collarbone. "Is this from …"

_The fiendfyre, _he finished inwardly. "Yeah. Never really healed right."

Again, apologies weren't necessary. Harry never wanted pity either.

"I used to wish you'd left me. I hated you for a long time after saving me with your damn hero complex. Another check in the better column. You just _had _to save the lowly Death Eater. I wouldn't have done the same." The Man Who Lived wanted to protest the last, but Draco had already settled with a sigh, turning his face to another mark he hadn't noticed on Harry's forearm. "My father told me of this one. _He_ came back with your blood. Ironic, isn't it? The same blood killed him, brought him back, and then killed him again."

"Doesn't make me better than anyone else," Harry promised, meeting Draco's iron eyes with his own emeralds.

_Too personal. Too difficult to _…

_Leave?_

It was necessary.

_No it wasn't._

This was lust.

_Not entirely._

Staying would be the worst thing he could do for Draco.

_And I care about him. More than I should._

Enough that he'd let him go.

_After tonight._

Because Harry really was no better than anyone else was. Tonight, he would be selfish. He would learn what it would feel like to _make love _to another person. To give someone else his other half—the part you save for someone you believe will take even better care of it than you would. And perhaps Draco _would_ take care. Perhaps he wouldn't.

Love was a leap of faith. A leap Harry learned was always fatal.

This time, though, he wouldn't take the other person with him.

He'd jump alone.

And fall alone.

And break alone.

"I know you're not. You're as fucked in the head as everyone else. Probably more so. No need to convince me you're a complete and total tosser."

Deciding he'd done enough talking for this _casual affair_,Harry took his final step forward, their bare chests coming together, causing the blond to shudder while their gazes remained locked. He looked at his company's lips, then back to his eyes—seeking permission.

A part of him, however, wanted Draco to move first. Wanted this to be Draco's decision.

"You want this, right?"

Rolling his eyes again, the man raised one eyebrow as if to say, _what do you think?_

"Humour me?" _I don't want to ruin your first time_.

The returning laugh was ironic, but at least genuine. "Please, Chosen One. Please 'plough me into the mattress' as you've so eloquently put. I've been pining after you for ages, don't make me wait any longer, Saviour of the Wizarding World!"

_Fucking git_.

Harry crashed their mouths together in a wet, sloppy kiss unwilling to wait for Draco's conscious decision to allow him entrance into his mouth, and relying heavily on catching his very last syllable before daring ahead.

There was a sharp nip to his intruding tongue and Harry tasted blood. The chuckle he felt reverberating through his chest sounded oddly cynical and not being one to fold under challenge, the brunet began to back Draco towards the king size bed of the master bedroom, wondering only for a moment why the blond hadn't made some ignorant crack about the Gryffindor décor so blatantly plastered about. The instant his counter's knees hit the edge of the bed, he fell onto its cushions with Harry tenderly guiding his fall.

"Remember your place, _Malfoy_,"he hissed the name in an unknown language to Draco. A tiny gasp echoed in Harry's ears while he adjusted his placement over the blond. Keeping himself just above Draco's lower waist, he moved his mouth to the salt-filmed skin of the other man's hollow at the base of his throat darting his tongue outwards to tease the sensitive flesh. "Parseltongue kick, Draco?"

With no answer provided, Harry readily continued, "_Surely I can speak like this all night_."

As if the sound were merging straight to his groin, Draco released a low moan and a hissed his own sting of curses, arching his lower half up into Harry's.

"Pants off," he panted, taking hold of the brunet's hair and pulling on the verge of painful for leverage. "_Now__._"

Without pausing his tongue's ministrations, Harry wandlessly vanished the remainder of their clothing and mentally thanked any and all creators of that spell or any sort of magic.

"You're not made of lead, Harry. You won't crush me if you decide to—oh, I don't know—participate here!" Stressing what Harry _should _be participating in, Draco again lifted his hips and rotated them against the Man Who Lived's now straining member. "And if you keep talking like that, I may not last. Cut it out."

Of course the insult was lackadaisical, but coherent thoughts and well-formed sentences were not the sign of a _job-well-fucked_. So, nearly suffocating Draco, Harry collapsed and rutted in small pulses, earning delightful keening sounds from the former Slytherin.

The grip in his hair loosened as the Chosen One journeyed lower, biting rough enough to form a red mark and probable purple bruise against the alabaster skin of Draco's collarbone. Judging by the consistent roll of the blond's hips into his painfully hardened cock, Harry was enticed lower. After swiping one long, slow strip of tongue over a pert nipple, the moan elicited from the body under his was far too much incentive to dedicate a bit more attention to this particular area.

"And if _you_ keep talking, I have a gag."

Those wonderfully excited hips stilled momentarily before Harry glanced away from his task to see Draco chewing his bottom lip to stifle some sort of heady sound.

_Really? A gag gets you worked up?_

Fighting a horrendously close battle, Harry ignored those noises and vowed not to think on the future he'd already given up with Draco.

"Lower," the blond groaned through clenched teeth. And who was the Man Who Lived to deny such a lovely request? "_Ah, _right _th-there, _Harry."

Pausing at the man's navel, and dipping his warm, wet muscle inward, bolts of molten heat and electricity shot straight from the sounds through Draco's throat and all the way through to Harry's neglected member. Reaching through his legs, he took hold of himself and tugged in time with his tongue and Draco's thrusts. Soon, he could hear his own pants and groans enhancing the symphony his Slytherin was creating.

With a very displeased choke following his leave of that wildly responsive belly button, Harry blew a cool mist of air over Draco's deserted, leaking head- silencing any amount of protest the man originally had.

"_Fuck, Harry! S-stop."_

_Did I do something wr_—

Draco pulled himself to his elbows; seemingly, he admired the sight of the brunet hovered over his cock and licked his lips as his gaze turned to Harry's hand, still in the process of slowly pleasuring itself.

Eyes filled with a mischievously feral lust, Draco smirked in a way only a Malfoy could. Dangerous and seductive bursting with the promise of something deadly.

"I want to try," he rasped deeply, making clear his point by clearly staring at Harry's growing problem.

_Oh fuck if that wasn't the most perfect idea in the entire world_.

"Can't say I know what I'm doing in the least, though," he alerted matter-of-factly to the brunet with a touch of insecurity laced through the offer.

Draco gestured for Harry to lie against the pillows and he nestled snugly atop the feather-filled cushioning, welcoming the sight before him.

The blond sat on his knees, his bottom lip being worried by the very edge of his front tooth, his nose crinkled in complete concentration, his eyes focused solely on the future task and his skin—glowing bright gold amidst the fire's flicker behind him. Tentatively, Draco reached forward and took Harry's length in his hand, producing a surprised yelp from the Man Who Lived. Even with a thin sheet of sweat colouring his chest and face, Draco's hands were terribly cold against the heated flesh of Harry's cock.

_Odd_,Harry finally thought coherently, even stranger would have been his body's stimulated reaction to the chill.

Painstakingly sluggish, Draco began to let his hand travel clumsily over Harry and said wizard barely maintained his composure at this nervous and inexperienced lover.

"It's like your own," he advised with a gentle smile. "Just … do what you would do to yourself, but on me."

Draco snorted in distaste, "I don't need directions. I'm not inept, Potter."

_Who the fuck else would put up with this shit during?_

"Then do something!" he almost shouted with that leisured hand teasing without meaning to.

"Pretty mouthy for someone with his prick in someone else's hand."

_Says the man about to put a prick in his mouth_.

"Please?" he partially begged, hoping the put-on helplessness in his voice would spur the blond into action.

_Again_,the man _smirked _and _crawled _over-top of Harry, his arms and legs creating a sturdy cage. His throat bobbed in honest fright.

"This time, _Harry_," he began, his teeth latching onto the lobe of the brunet's ear, "Ask with a bit more feeling."

A light finger danced over the shaft of his member and he mewled his appreciation, wondering how the blond had learned to read him so well.

"P-please," he stuttered, hoping this was the magic word as need became torture.

Without warning, Draco descended and engulfed Harry's member, gagging without relaxing his throat, but quickly finding an amount that suited him, covering the remainder of the man's length with his hand.

He bobbed for a moment, rising completely to lick the very tip, cover the dripping head completely, and _sucked_.Harry gripped the coverlet until his knuckles were white, shutting his eyes tightly as to not see the near perfect image between his thighs. His imagination was already doing enough to have him undone and reality would ruin all hopes of lasting.

_Fuck, imagine if he had more practice? May be better than me_.

Making an anchor of Draco's hair, the Man Who Lived pulled the strands ruthlessly, using every ounce of self-control not to plunge into the _hotwetsofuckingtalented _mouth.

"Draco," he whined, berating himself for the breathlessness of his voice. "Draco—I want you."

_So much, it fucking hurts._

The blond mumbled something incoherent around Harry's cock, sending inviting vibrations and doubling the sensation.

His toes began to curl and the fist twisting into platinum locks pushed Draco's face away, and with an audible _pop, _Harry pulled the blond to his mouth and ignored the livid leer he received. Sucking Draco's tongue in the same manner as his member, the former Slytherin seemed to forget momentarily of his offense with a deep moan.

"_Mmm_," he articulated, nipping playfully at Harry's chin, "Not good enough for the Boy Who Fucked an Entire City?"

Disregarding the insult, Harry managed, "Too good. Can't," _pant, _"last if you," _groan, _"kept it up."

"That good, am I? Perhaps you're just losing your touch."

"I'll make you eat those words, Malfoy." The comment had extremely little bite to it, but quite a bit of assurance.

"I'd rather eat something else," Draco complained and Harry very nearly responded with, _there's always next time._

He gulped the words and flipped their positions, pinning Draco's hands above his head and swallowing any dissent with a desperate kiss and rutting frantically against a more than eager partner.

"I need to prepare you," Harry warned, presenting two fingers to Draco's lips. "Trust me—it'll help. I promise."

Harry, once again, needed to close his eyes at the erotic sight of this technical virgin hollowing his cheeks around his fingers with the image of where those lips were previously wrapped so closely recalled.

Finally, the man was satisfied with the lubrication of those digits and Harry felt for Draco's entrance—an obvious tensing alerting the brunet of his discovery.

"It's going to feel … strange. Are you certain you don't want to, you know …"

Draco shook his head once and nothing more, taking Harry's seeking hand in his own and thrusting himself onto the fingers until he reached knuckles, biting his lip as the Chosen One stretched and curved those very same fingers to find …

"Oh, _Merlin, _Harry- d-do that ag-gain," he stammered with glazed over eyes, half lidded after his body relaxed at the intrusion.

Over and over, Harry teased the bundle of nerves and added one more finger without Draco ever realising.

The blond was writing uncontrollably with his hair plastered to his sweat-soaked face. Meeting each of Harry's small pulses, his mouth fell open, introducing a train of curses, prayers of Harry's given name and mindless pleas of _moreharderfaster._

Removing his fingers, Harry lifted Draco's legs higher, aligned himself and inhaled a deep breath before entering the man an inch at a time until he was entirely buried to the hilt.

"Hurts," the former Slythering whined, his eyes cast to the ceiling while a tear dotted his cheek. "J-just, g-give me a m-moment."

Thinking quickly, Harry tore a pillow away from the head of the bed and placed it gingerly beneath Draco's lower back to adjust the angle. The man sighed gratefully and nodded for Harry to continue.

Slowly, the Chosen One pulled out almost completely before forcing himself against the screaming muscles again and again, taking time to rotate his hips in hopes to find that particular spot in Draco that would make him see stars and scream in absolute ecstasy.

"You feel amazing, Draco," Harry breathed, needing to distract the man until he'd truly begun to enjoy himself.

"_Ri-ight _there, Harry!" Draco screamed suddenly, un-bunching his hands from the blanket to scrape his perfectly manicured nails over Harry's chest and rest painfully on his hips, surely leaving bruises. "Again. Harder. _Harder_."

And he had no intentions on not complying. Never in his life had he seen something as breathtakingly beautiful as the sight of Draco coming totally and unequivocally undone in front of him. His eyes screwed shut, chest heaving with animalistic lust, lips trembling in silent prayer.

Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips messily against the blond's, biting at his bottom lip and swallowing the man's tongue in his own throat.

With husky grunts and horse moans, Harry pounded mercilessly into Draco and took hold of his leaking member when the blond looked to be just on the brink of destruction.

"_Come, Draco. Please, let go_," the Man Who Lived hissed, and Draco opened his eyes at the sound—only to arch a second afterwards, a soundless cry escaping his lips as he climaxed.

Instantly, Harry revised his previous thought. _This _was the most breathtakingly beautiful sight he'd ever beheld. Here, beneath him, Draco Malfoy had the most peaceful, most wonderful glow covering every single fibre of his being. Never, not for the world, would he rid himself of this moment. For in this instant, Harry knew exactly what he was made for—_who_ he was made for. And it wasn't for some Dark Lord's extermination. Not to be some constant Godfather. Not to vie for Most Eligible Bachelor. Not to be this hero that everyone had mistaken him as.

He was meant to be _here._

With Draco.

_Home._

With what felt like the force of a freight train, Harry reached his own completion deep within Draco and cried, "_Draco_!"

Crashing atop of the man under him, the brunet regained himself and his breathing. Time must have stretched longer than he anticipated because before he was aware of the fact, a hand was lazily trailing up and down his spine and a pair of lips pressed into his dampened hair every now and then.

Unsteadily, he removed himself and attempted feebly to roll off Draco and locate his discarded clothing.

"Don't move," he heard.

"Draco, I have to leave, I can't—"

The grip around his middle held tighter. "You heard me. Don't be a ruddy ponce. Stay until I fall asleep, _then_ you can sneak off."

He still rolled off Draco—but only to cast a cleaning charm and collect the covers to drape over Draco and himself.

The blond curled into Harry's side and nuzzled his neck before wrapping his arm right beneath the former Gryffindor's rib cage.

"Good night, Harry," Draco mumbled a moment prior to his breathing evening.

Waiting longer than necessary in the comment's wake, Harry brushed a stray strand of hair from the blond's serene face and let his hand linger against his jaw as he kissed the sleeping man's forehead.

"_Good night, Love,_" Harry hissed, minding his language from other ears and untangling himself to leave.

* * *

><p>Ginny stood in complete confusion at this woman's words.<p>

_Why would she lie about something like that?_

"Y-you're Draco's kid's mother?" she stuttered stupidly.

The woman laughed lightly, "Actually, Draco is _my child's _father. And my name is Elizabeth, if you don't mind."

_Naturally. _"Would you mind telling me what happened to you? I don't know anything about the child's situation, but I'm a spy for the Ministry and I need facts about your capture for my case."

Elizabeth turned towards the tea on the table and stirred anticlockwise while she seemed to contemplate the idea. Never had Ginny dreamed of a complication like this. Finding not only a missing person, but a missing _mother. _And not _any _mother, but the mother of _Draco Malfoy's child_.The same Draco Malfoy who was currently dating Terence Higgs, a man.

No doubt a book could be written on the subject.

"I was captured during the war and Draco rescued me. After it ended, well, people remembered me and came after me. Once they'd caught up, I sent Karina to live with Draco, assuming I'd never see her again and that's the short of it." The woman huffed in annoyance, her mind obviously elsewhere. "Can I see him? And Karina?"

"Of course. Just, get some rest. I'll take you to his centre in the morning. There's a room just behind you where you can sleep and freshen up. I _promise_ we'll see them. But, you've just left a pretty terrible ordeal and I'd like to account for possible hysteria."

Elizabeth's breath stuttered in panic, but she nodded her agreement and exited the room.

* * *

><p>Harry's flat hadn't changed since he left, not that he expected it to. It was in the same state of disarray as he'd left it. Fortunately, he hadn't left food lying about to mould.<p>

An empty feeling settled into the very pit of his stomach as he dove onto his decidedly frozen bed. The room was horridly cold without another body adding to the heat.

Casting a quick tempus charm, he deduced the time to be around four in the morning. Of course, it would be useless to attempt sleeping at this point, so he found shapes in the bumps of the ceiling.

For the life of him, he could not stop creating the ever-complicated constellation _Draco_.


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter Eighteen_

"_Malfoy_!" Draco heard, screeched at a tone normally only feasible by canines in its piercing decibel.

The blond darted upwards from the bed in a jolt of pure adrenaline brought on from either the rage of the voice calling out to him, or his own heart stopping and restarting itself.

Immediately, he noticed his nudity and covered himself with a discarded sheet before glancing towards his intruder, a newly married Ronald Weasley.

"What the bloody _hell _are you doing in our house?" The tone never changed and Draco wondered momentarily if the man were catching a cold, or if his puberty went in reverse from the sight of a naked Malfoy in his bed. Either way, the intrusion was highly annoying at best and if he weren't the—for lack of a better word—_guest, _he may have protested himself. "And why the piss are you _naked_?Oh for fuck's sake, I can see through the sheet! Pull a blanket up, man!"

The red-faced redhead shielded his eyes with his hands and visibly shook with what seemed to be sheer will power against reaching for his wand and hexing Draco six ways from Sunday.

"Ron, what are you yelling abou—oh!" Hermione gasped, her hand coming to cover her mouth and her eyes widening as Draco willed his body to melt into the mattress and disappear. "Oh, oh my. _Draco_?What're you—oh. Oh, _God. _Oh bloody _fuck. _He didn't. He couldn't."

Draco didn't respond. The witch was the brightest of her age. She understood perfectly well what the man had been doing only hours before. She knew precisely whom he'd been participating in these activities with as well. Her husband, however, still stood gaping and terrifically traumatised to wordless stutters.

"Where is he?" Hermione whispered after gaining her composure, and attempting futilely to lull Weasley away from his probable comatose state. Relaxed enough to move, he paced towards the door without any sort of eye contact. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

"I'm getting a drink. And then some more drinks."

With the door closed, Hermione turned towards the blond with a sympathetic smile and came to sit at the edge of the bed.

"He's gone back," Draco said simply with a shrug. "Probably left the moment I fell asleep."

Now that he wasn't under attack, the bed felt much cooler. The room was much emptier and the fire must've died some time ago. And with the power of magic, no mess was left behind either.

As if nothing had happened.

And if it weren't for the slightly unpleasant stiffness in his lower back, he would have assumed he dreamed the entire evening.

Running a hand through what he knew would more than likely be the worst crop of hair he'd ever allowed himself to experience, Draco stilled.

He'd forgotten his glamour.

Not that Hermione cared or even seemed to be looking. If anything, she was examining the room. _Her _room. Eyes full of wonder and mild awe at the gift.

"Surprised you'd stoop to a Gryffindor's room," she jibed- her smile a little wider. "It's too much, obviously. But, the work that must've gone into this house is incredible. Especially for Harry. He hates domesticating anything after living with those Muggles all his life." She shook her head in disbelief, reconnected her eyes with the blond and tilted her head in confusion with one brow raised. "What happened?"

Draco's gaze faltered for a brief amount of time, his forehead furrowing and eyes glancing from one side of the room to the other as if to say, _Really, Hermione? What do you think?_

She rolled her eyes and puffed a breath of air. "I suppose I meant _how _as opposed to _what_. I'm not exactly an expert on what happens here, but I'm rather sure I can piece it together."

"I can't really explain how it happened. I just sort of gave him permission to—you know." Gesturing with his marked arm for the witch to continue the thought on her own; she nodded in understanding and bit her lip with what seemed to be a possible censorship. "If you have something to say, say it. Really. I couldn't be more mortified and honestly haven't left yet because if I leave the bed, you're bound to see some bits of my anatomy that I'm hardly confident with in the light."

"It's just, well, I thought you were with Terence."

"I was. Before I decided he was a tosser," he flippantly responded with minimal genuine care.

"And you decided this when?"

Counting back the hours, Draco decided the time of the decision hardly mattered. "At your wedding. He knew Harry and Charlie weren't together in the least and he led me to believe differently. Hadn't the heart to ask why Harry hit him in the first place, but I'd presume it wasn't about some 'misunderstanding'."

"Charlie punched him last night. In the face. _Again_," Hermione added capriciously, the bit of news disturbingly not surprising the blond. "Apparently he said some things about Harry and Fred that didn't sit all too well with Charlie. Terence was drunk, but I suppose he still shouldn't be excused—even if he's famous."

In the process of allowing this information to sink through, Draco was suddenly struck by afterthought. "If you don't mind me asking, because I have no right to," he clarified knowingly, "aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

With a touch more malice than appropriate for Hermione, the witch blew a strand of hair from her eyes and pursed her lips. "Molly, the _sweetheart _she is, wanted to take care of our honeymoon. So, her and Arthur set up a Muggle vacation for the two of us in New York City. Our flight doesn't leave until two in the afternoon and since Harry moved all of our things here without anyone knowing, well, we needed to pack. Still need to pack. And in Ron's probable inebriation, he'll more than likely end up packing mismatched socks and candles."

"Are you happy?" the blond suddenly asked, sheepishly regretting the question in retrospect. "I mean, being married and all."

The corners of her mouth lifted softly in response, and with one set of nods, that half-grin turned into a bright beam. "Very happy."

"I should get going. Sorry for the intrusion and I know it doesn't change anything—but this wasn't my idea. Please send my deepest condolences to your husband. You'll let me know if I've killed him."

"I'll go check on him. Feel free to use the floo." Patting his immobile hand, Hermione rose to her feet and walked towards the door.

"Have a lovely vacation."

Still smiling, the witch paused at her exit. "We will. And thank-you for the library, by the way. Of course, it was far too much. But, I promise it will be used."

Again, Draco was left alone to gather his discarded clothing and adjust himself to at least moderately presentable before he'd have to face the relentless wrath of his I-told-you-so mother.

* * *

><p><em>Elizabeth London was born on an unseasonably cold day in the middle of May to Jonathan and Mildred London, both Muggles in the Engineering and Teaching industry. As normal as the definition emits, both parents were simple and the cardboard <em>_cut outs__ of conventional._

_With bright green eyes, jet-black hair, and an almost translucent complexion, Elizabeth seemed to fit perfectly into her standard Muggle family. Not long after she began to walk did she demonstrate odd abilities. Whether in tantrums or happiness, strange occurrences followed the girl wherever she ventured._

_It wasn't until a __neighbour__ noticed and visited in passing with her own advice pertaining to the possibilities of these otherwise impossible events._

_Elizabeth was a witch. A Muggle-born witch._

_Interested in supporting their daughter's talent, she was sent to a summer camp of sorts to learn about the history of magic and how to maintain some control over the raw magical bursts that are often followed by an extreme exuberance of energy._

_Elizabeth had never met witches or wizards—had been __ostracised__ and neglected in preschool and kindergarten for her unique qualities. Here though, in this children's camp, she was welcomed. Even with Muggle parents, she was welcomed._

_With a small sense of longing for home, but a foreign sense of pride in her ability to make her own mother and father proud, Elizabeth bit back her fear of loneliness, kissed her parents goodbye, and set off to learn about a piece of her life separate from her family._

_Developing friendships here was much simpler than she could have ever imagined. Her own schools ridiculed anything pertaining to her identity. They didn't know what she was_—_Mildred thought it easiest to keep the fact a secret from all but family. Jonathan agreed_—_reluctantly, but agreed nonetheless._

_Elizabeth met a rather spoiled child while at the camp. He had the lightest hair, skin and eyes she had ever seen. A sneer not meant for such an age. And an attitude of superiority only matched by his overbearing sense of confidence and arrogance._

_So, naturally, the young witch sought out this abominable creature and found he was just as lost to this world as she was._

_Draco Malfoy was lost for other reasons._

_Clearly, he was terribly interested in Muggles_—_at least clearly to Elizabeth who may have told a day to day tale of her very short life with the amount of questions he could come up with. Harsh public __demeanour__ aside, Draco was a sweetheart when no one was looking. Always curious, always prodding into business he shouldn't._

_That was never permitted at home, he told her in confidence__—__one of the few bits of information she'd learned since he was ever so keen as to keep his private life private._

"_Mother says we are not to discuss what goes on at home. We could get in big trouble."_

_Why he could possibly find himself in dreadfully horrifying trouble wouldn't be answered until far later in their relationship_—_a relationship neither knew would exist again._

_Parting ways, Elizabeth left with a newfound feeling of understanding. The Muggle world was becoming increasingly more bearable as time stretched. She learned to control herself. She learned to live two lives. She learned there was far more than she could ever begin to envision in fantasy._

_And her family added a new member. After returning home, her parents announced the coming of a brother._

_He too would be blessed with magic. His name would be Matthew._

_At the age of eleven, she received a letter by owl. Elizabeth had been accepted into Durmstrang's school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was sorted into the Atticus House without a moment's hesitation_—_most likely for her cunning and bravery. This particular house was __rumoured__ to support Voldemort, however, Elizabeth steered clear of Dark Magic and any notion of Dark Wizards._

_By this time, she'd forgotten almost entirely of Draco Malfoy._

_Almost._

_His family constantly made the papers, and without consciously meaning to, Elizabeth watched Draco grow up through the news._

_The same sneer played on his face, the same haughty attitude carried through interviews. And each instance where the boy would touch a page, a small sense of warmth would surround Elizabeth. Not in love or adoration, but delight in understanding there was far more to this Slytherin than met the eye. At least, there was plenty more to the young child she'd met for a brief period of time during a foggy memory._

_His eyes changed. Fear spoiled those mysterious depths and Elizabeth could hardly help the unnerved feeling boiling in the pit of her stomach after each new photo._

_Soon after she'd begun school, so did the war. A boy named Harry Potter had also started attending Hogwarts along with Draco. He was, apparently, the only known survivor of the killing curse, the defeater of Voldemort at infancy and quite a number of times later in his life as well._

_Unconsciously, Elizabeth would compare the two boys. As the only other Hogwarts student she knew, their comparison was all she could potentially make._

_According to the papers, Harry was a Gryffindor and every ounce of bravery Godric advertised of his house, the bright-eyed hero exuded more. Though, he always seemed so lost in photographs. Perhaps the flash was far too bright, or crowds made him queasy. Whatever the reason was, Harry didn't seem to agree with his title. If anything, the same fear sifting through Draco's eyes made its way to the Gryffindor boy's too. This fear was the result of a Dark Lord's chase, while Draco's couldn't be deciphered._

_She imagined their rivalry easily. If their houses weren't enough, then their temperament more than likely struck opposite ends of the spectrum._

_Her own Houses never fell for the rivalry that Hogwarts __displayed__. Of course, each House had its differences. But the amount of __grey__ area separating this from that was entirely too large to decide accurately where one House ended and another began._

_Elizabeth watched all the same and assumed the Hat would have issues with sorting her. With the confidence and bravery of a Gryffindor and the cunning self-preservation of a Slytherin, no doubt she would have had to choose for herself._

_Thinking back on it from time to time, she always hoped she'd choose Gryffindor._

_Tragically, after her fifth year at Durmstrang, families of Muggle-born witches and wizards were being hunted. Not associating with the war, and even pulling out of school for extra safety measures, the London's felt as though they had nothing to fear. Durmstrang was never the __centre__ of the war anyway._

_Harry Potter was never the __centre__ of Durmstrang._

_A month into leaving the Wizarding World, Matthew vanished. Both Mildred and Jonathan fell into hysteria, unconsciously blaming magic for their problems and slowly beginning to outcast Elizabeth._

_Soon, though, neither parent possessed the opportunity to place rightful guilt as Elizabeth watched the murder of the two people responsible for her survival._

_From beneath her bed, the young woman witnessed a man and woman toss killing curses at her __defenceless__ parents. Their bodies fell to the floor and Elizabeth clasped her hand to her mouth in attempts to cease the scream from her throat._

_The effort was to no avail as the Death Eaters shattered her bed and stunned Elizabeth into darkness._

_When she finally came to, she was led to a terribly black cell with one other prisoner. It was far too dark to make out the identity of the figure, but she absolutely noticed something hunched in the corner of the dreadfully cold room._

"_Hello? Someone's there. I saw you," she said, her eyes adjusting yet still unfocused and unseeing._

"_Hello," the boy croaked._

"_What's your name?" Elizabeth asked._

_For a moment, he didn't answer. "I don't know."_

_Thinking that perhaps she shouldn't reveal herself, Elizabeth laughed hollowly in attempts to console this fellow abducted. "I don't remember my name either."_

_Something resonated in her memory from the sound of his voice. It was hauntingly familiar, but too strained from lack of proper care. The rasp made it impossible to pinpoint where she'd heard this voice before._

_He didn't say much. In fact, he hardly said anything at all. It was simply pleasant not to be alone here. Not that they'd had time to get to know each other. Before she had time to settle, Elizabeth was carried away again._

_Lined up amongst strangers, an older Death Eater explained to a rather confused Draco Malfoy about his task. The same fear in the photographs sat deep within his eyes until they fell onto Elizabeth. A startled sense of terrified alarm glazed over his already troublesome features and he chose Elizabeth silently._

_Before the door could close behind the pair, Draco let out a yelp of panic and tears streamed down his face. He was hardly aware of the fact that Elizabeth was consoling him, understanding entirely what needed to happen for both of them to survive._

"_It's alright, Draco. You have my permission. You don't need to feel sorry. If it has to happen, I'm glad you're here rather than someone who would want to hurt me."_

_And so they completed his task manually without speaking. Elizabeth trusted Draco. Trusted that she was given a choice and trusted the blond to give his life if she couldn't go through with the test._

_Still, it wasn't love forming her opinions._

_It was respect._

"_I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered after explaining the show Elizabeth would need to put on for the Death Eaters and other prisoners. She would need to feign ignorance of anything but torture. The __crueller__ she made Draco out to be, the better._

_She'd been thrown into a different room than she started in._

_The same __hoarse__ voice broke the still silence. "What did they do to you?"_

_Elizabeth couldn't see the boy, but knew she was visible to him and thanked magic for the glamour of false bruises and battered __pretence__._

_A day didn't pass before Draco returned, desperately urging Elizabeth to come with him._

_Nervous of the possible hoax, she asked, "What's happening? What're you doing?"_

_Unchaining her bonds, he hissed quietly, "I'm getting you out of here. Come on, we haven't much time."_

"_Why?"_

"_I can't keep you here after what happened. I have a choice now and I need to get you out of here."_

_His eyes were void of any sort of life and Elizabeth knew not to question him any further. This was her only chance of survival._

_Escaping far enough from the sinister prison's walls, Draco gave the girl address to his family manor's wardless floo in case she were ever to need him when the war was over._

_So she ran._

_Far, far away._

_Never turning back._

_Elizabeth finally stopped when she'd reached her grandparent's home. She recounted every bit of information she could recall of the ordeal, uttering the words she could hardly acknowledge until this very moment._

"_They're all dead."_

_Slowly, she began to breathe on her own again with the prospect of a daughter on the way. Still, she was so young, hardly touching sixteen years; Elizabeth was to mother a child._

_And she was beautiful._

_With her mother's face and father's eyes, Elizabeth named her daughter Karina_—_for its meaning of purity._

_She didn't think to seek assistance from Draco. After the war was won, he was tortured for his part in the battle. Luckily, Harry Potter seemed to find him innocent_—_and since the Golden Boy's word was nearly law, Draco was excused from his actions._

_It would be easier to disappear from him and wizards in general. Keeping Karina from her father never seemed entirely right, but it was always much simpler than the truth. Draco could have been a wonderful father, Elizabeth __knew that__. However, the press and Ministry wouldn't see it in such a way. In its crassest form, it would be construed as rape without just cause and he would undoubtedly be sent to the Dementor's Kiss._

_So, she kept Karina amongst her own family, keeping her father's identity a secret to all but her daughter. She had a right to know who she was named after. The man who had saved her life and the boy who welcomed her into a whole new world._

_As Karina grew, parallels were easily seen between her and Draco. Both stubborn and exceedingly arrogant. Both proud and beautiful._

_Rumour__ began to circulate as Karina reached the age of three. Death Eaters, still wildly irate about their master's death, were hunting escaped Muggle born witches and wizards. Knowing only a handful of escaped prisoners and understanding the sheer power of dark magic, Elizabeth felt completely exposed and rightly so._

_No longer willing to run, the witch sent Karina away to her father with a note attached, hoping and praying that his kindness was not simple __pretence__._

"_You give him this note, Sweetheart. Do you understand me?" she muttered in a panic, hearing obscenely loud footsteps nearing her bedroom._

_Karina nodded and hugged her mother tightly. "I love you, Mum."_

_Elizabeth bit back a choked sob and gave her daughter the powder. "I love you too, Karina. More than anything in the world. Death won't change that. Always and forever."_

_And at the precise moment Karina disappeared, the door burst open into flames and two familiar Death Eater's stood in its wake._

"_Who were you talking to up here, girl? Speak!" the woman bellowed, her teeth a ghastly yellow with ferocious malice._

"_No one," she swore quietly. "Just me."_

_The man at the woman's side smiled, his grin just as feral. "Good. Less to carry."_

_And she fell into darkness._

* * *

><p>Elizabeth awoke with a start, surveying her surroundings to convey the message of safety to her overexcited brain. So used to the next day being her last, genuine and assured well-being felt all too foreign.<p>

A dash of light trickled in from the window near her bed, leaving a small slit of light against the floral print of the borrowed comforter.

The air seemed warmer here, and the flannel pyjamas she didn't remember changing into felt all too itchy and uncomfortably stifling.

Pinching herself out of habit to assess dreaming, her heart rate stabilised along with reality.

She was safe here.

_Terrified_, but safe.

A tiny rapping sounded at the door and Elizabeth startled—again—out of habit.

"Can I come in, Elizabeth? I thought I heard you waking and I have breakfast."

The voice was strikingly familiar.

_Perhaps it belonged to the woman from last night? What was her name again _…_ Glinda?_

_That's the Good Witch of the North, you remedial sod._

"C-come in," she stuttered, clamping her jaw tightly to cease the chattering.

"Wasn't sure if you liked tea or coffee, so I brought both. And some toast. Didn't want to shock your stomach. It looks like they haven't really provided any actual nutrition."

"I guess they wouldn't—if they eventually meant for you to die, eh?" Trying to come off a bit lighter, Elizabeth tried to laugh, but the sound was too made-up. Anyone—even this stranger—could feel the tension rolling off in waves.

"Care to talk a bit before we head over to the centre? I checked with my partner and she's decided it may cause a bit of a scene if we bring you to the front door. We need to schedule something more private." Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but the witch raised her hand for more time to explain. "With Karina too, of course."

She nodded once and took hold of the offered tea. Elizabeth sniffed its contents for anything off-putting and found nothing sinister about the beverage. Chancing a sip, the witch relaxed slightly in its warmth.

"Karina does look quite a bit like you. She's very spunky from what I hear. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting her myself."

The small-talk was polite but unnecessary. "You're wondering how she even came to be and how I could possibly be the mother of Draco's child and a Muggle born captive."

This spy laughed quietly. "Sorry. I'm so used to having to walk on eggshells around everyone. It's an Auror's job to be frank. It's my job to make you feel fuzzy and safe inside. At least at ease enough to give us the information we need for the case. Honestly, it's my own curiosity asking about Karina. She isn't at all pertinent to the case itself."

"I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name."

"Ginevra," she smiled softly. "But, everyone calls me Ginny."

"Ginny," Elizabeth repeated for memory's sake, "this wasn't the first time I'd been captured. I was kidnapped during the war as well. Different Death Eaters. Do you know anything about the initiation of a Death Eater?"

Ginevra shook her head and Elizabeth recounted the prudent pieces of her tale, saving intimate detail for her mind and Draco's.

"It's incredible you're still alive."

"I wouldn't be if it weren't for Draco. You believe that, don't you?"

Too long of a pause stretched between the women. "I don't—I mean—I only knew Malfoy in school. And he really never seemed _humane._"

"Please, take my word for it. He was a pawn too. As innocent as Harry Potter, even. Draco at least never killed anyone."

Obviously this offended the red haired witch—even if it was a correct technicality. "He didn't keep others from dying like Harry did."

Eyes formed to slits in contest, Elizabeth inhaled slowly to maintain composure. "He kept _me_ from dying. And Harry didn't save everyone either."

Unannounced, another woman barged into the small bedroom, flipping her hair behind her shoulders and smirking challengingly at Elizabeth.

"So, you're Karina's mother? It figures you'd be pretty. Draco's gay and still manages to find an attractive mother for his child. Ready to leave? Or did I interrupt? Raven over here looks like she wants to hex you, Red."

"My name is Elizabeth," she barked, the same anger flaring from Ginevra's earlier comment.

"Get your knickers out of a bunch, Love. I'm talking about your hair colour."

* * *

><p>Without any sort of valid reason, Harry made leave for the nearest pub. The air nipped at his skin through his thin jumper as he decided to walk—never one to splurge for a taxi. And walking always cleared his thoughts with unusual sights. Today's sightseeing would bring him an excellent view of a young couple playfully kicking each other's behinds as they strolled on the opposite side of the street. Even in the dismal weather, the pair seemed utterly at ease and warm in spite of the obvious cold.<p>

Unwillingly, Harry envied them. Envied any happiness as he thrust his hands into his pockets and sighed dejectedly.

_This is the right choice_.

The sky was slowly darkening with the setting sun and the Chosen One decided on a frequented little ditch called _Melrose._

He sat on his regular stool and rested his head in his hand while his elbows rested on the bar.

"Haven't seen you for a while, Harry. Where've you been?" the bar tender asked, drying a glass, placing it in front of Harry and filling it with something brown.

Without glancing upwards at the man, the Man Who Lived shrugged, "Visiting family. My brother got married."

"Always hated weddings—makes you think about yourself, don't it? Like was mine good enough or will mine be good enough? Hate weddings, ghastly things."

Swinging back the liquid in agreement, Harry welcomed the burn to his throat, forgetting the sting of Muggle alcohol.

"Welcome back, all the same. It's on the house tonight. You look like you could use it."

Before Harry could refuse, the man had already left to wait on another customer. Rotating to glance at the other people scattered throughout the pub, the brunet found himself unconsciously staring at a blond bloke about four yards away and shrinking as he approached Harry.

"I've seen you before," the man offered with a grin.

"It's possible," Harry obliged, scanning his moderately handsome features.

_He's no Dra_—

_Stop it!_

"I don't do this often." _I doubt it. _"But, would you let me buy you a drink? You look a bit lonely over here."

"Sorry, I've got a free bill tonight. Perhaps another time." _Come back when I'm inherently pissed._

"Let me sit with you, then?"

_Incessant bugger _…

"Sure," Harry managed, poured himself another glass and prepared for a horrid evening.

* * *

><p>The centre was uncharacteristically busy for already having had and cleaned lunch. Draco wondered where his memory had taken off to and if he located his sanity, he expected his memory would be shacked up nearby.<p>

He completely forgot the Diagon Alley trip and could have kicked himself for putting off his attendance—even if it was for the just cause of avoiding his mother's fury.

Fortunately, or unfortunately if you proceeded to ask Draco, Narcissa seemed to have inserted some sort of tracker on her son and attacked him upon entry through his office.

"Where have you been?"

_If I'm screeched at one more time, my ears may bleed. Is that an aneurysm?_

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the witch pursed her lips in discontent and silenced the door separating the two from anyone interested in prying.

"Forget that question. I know where you've been, but," she paused, striding to Draco in three swift steps and sending a slap across his face with an audible _crack, _"_what in the bloody hell were you thinking, Draco_?"

Raising a hand to his warming cheek, the younger Malfoy hissed through the pain and clenched his teeth. "Glad to see you're keeping a calm, open mind, Mother."

"Oh, do quit being a smart arse," she snarled, crossing her arms over her chest and pacing towards the window for what looked to be some sort of distraction. "Are you looking to sabotage everything you've worked for?" Her voice quieted in genuine concern. "Draco, what do you want to do here? He's gone. Terence has been owling all day—apologising."

"Mum, I don't have it all together. I never will, but Harry and I are finished. And I hardly have anything to say to Terence." Still tending to his battered cheek, his hands found their way through his sleep worn hair and his fingers laced together at the nape of his neck.

"How about the truth? Can't say he was the only one being dishonest in the relationship."

"But, he kept me from possibly—" his rationalising stalled, _possibly what?_

With a heavy sigh, Narcissa turned towards Draco, her eyes downcast in disappointment. "You kept yourself, Draco. Don't blame the boy for falling for someone already taken."

She headed for the door, glancing backwards at her son once more. "We'll be back in a few hours. Try to keep out of trouble while we're gone. Karina will be staying with you and Pansy's coming to visit. Sounded urgent."

_Pansy? Fuck_—_she'll want Seamus to have more hours _…

"Is Karina feeling all right?"

"Why don't you ask her? She's in the play room."

And that's precisely what Draco set out to do, steadily creating a path through the moving crowd to the children's room; he stood at the doorway and watched Karina as she toyed with a wooden train, wheeling it about the floor with her own sound effects.

The blond's lips stretched into a thin smile as he approached her. "Hi, Sweetheart," he cooed, bending to his knees and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "How are you today?"

She shrugged and continued to play. "Fine."

"Did you sleep well? Have a nice lunch?"

Again, she shrugged. "It was fine."

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Karina shook her head and stood to place her train back into its bin. Collecting a set of blocks, she sat back down to build.

"If I guess, will you tell me if I'm right?" Not receiving an answer, Draco began to guess anyway. "Does it have to do with me?"

She nodded.

_Fuck_.

"Do you not like Terence?" _Because I'm not so fond of him either_.

"He's okay," she said, stacking a pattern of red and blue blocks one on top of the other.

"Does it have to do with Harry?"

A shrug. "Maybe."

What could he have possibly done with Harry to upset Karina? She'd left before the ordeal with Terence could be noticed. "Honey, what did I do?"

In a small bout of rage, she knocked her tower to the ground and bellowed, "You let him leave, Daddy! You let him leave just like you let Mummy leave. You weren't there like last time, Daddy! You weren't there _at all_!"

The little girl didn't shed a tear or utter another word as she piled her blocks again.

Draco, on the other hand, was never as strong.

* * *

><p><em>What if they don't <em>_recognise__ me?_

It'd been a year since Elizabeth had seen her daughter—and almost six years since she'd seen Draco. Paranoia always did have a way of getting the best of her.

"You're shaking, Dear. Do relax. It's making me antsy."

_This woman's a right bitch._

"Don't mind Pansy, she can be a right bitch, but she's brilliant at what she does," Ginny whispered carefully in Elizabeth's ear as the three witches waited patiently for the door.

_At least that's something we can agree on._

"She's known Draco since they were children and her husband works as a chef for him now."

"He'll be my ex-husband if he doesn't move his arse to this door sometime this century." To emphasise her point, she kicked at the door four times and nearly took a stab at the man answering. Her brow furrowed in aggravation while his own smile turned to amusement. "Took you long enough, Seamus. I know the kids are out, so it's not like you have a damn thing to attend to."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Please don't fire me. I'm not a doorman, Pansy. I'm the fucking chef. Draco's in the toy room with Karina."

The man left the door open and disappeared back into the kitchens. Without needing to look, Elizabeth could feel Pansy's eyes rolling as she stomped a couple of paces ahead.

Elizabeth's stomach plummeted into her shoes. She had half a mind to turn around and let their lives remain stagnant.

_Just breathe._

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._

"Draco, it's been too long, Sweetie," Elizabeth heard. A hand found hers and squeezed tightly, keeping her grounded. "We brought someone we need you to identify."

"We?" This being the first time his voice had actually sounded in years, any hopes of keeping calm dissolved instantly. "Oh, hello, Ginevra. Who's that behind you?"

Stepping one foot at a time from behind the red haired witch, Elizabeth slowly allowed her face to rise, pausing at Draco's hip where her daughter stood—eyes wide in confusion before rocketing through the small group and wrapping herself around her mother's waist.

"Mummy!" she cried, rubbing her tiny face into the cloth of her pants. "Is it you? Is it really you?"

Kneeling in front of Karina, Elizabeth couldn't find words. Her eyes searched the girl's face, seeing its age even after a year. She touched the edge of her cheek and ran her fingers through Karina's hair, holding her face and pulling her none too gently into her arms while tears threatened to fall and stung the corners of her eyes.

Finally looking up at the man who cared for the most important piece of her life, she found his complexion paled beyond recognition—his lips trembled with the possibility of a spoken thought, and his breath seemed too shallow to be deemed healthy.

"H-how are you here?" he suddenly managed, lowering himself to the floor to stroke her cheek as well, making certain she was real. "I thought you were—"

"I thought I would be too," she mumbled, forgetting the Auror and spy. "Thank-you for taking care of her, Draco."

"So, she really is Karina's mother, Malfoy? And her story … it's true?"

"You told them?" he asked, no anger tainting his voice, but worry.

"I told Ginny—yes," her voice still carried a quietly surreal quality.

Draco's eyes closed tightly and he craned his neck to look at the spy. "Yes, Ginevra. Whatever she's told you is true."

With an audible gulp, the witch cleared her throat. "Then I have to arrest you, Draco Malfoy—for rape, reckless abandonment, and failure to deliver information to the Ministry in terms of Death Eater initiation and possibly helpful insight into the whereabouts of missing Muggle born witches and wizards."

* * *

><p>Harry cracked one eye open only to close it immediately in the brightness of the rising sun. With a terribly pained groan, he reached blindly for his glasses, giving up quickly and deciding to massage his temples. Never had he wished more for a hangover potion.<p>

"You're awake?"

_Oh, fuck_.

"Uh, yeah," he spouted eloquently, shifting in bed to a sitting position. A blurry hand thrust a pair of glasses his way and a glass of something warm.

"You'll feel better after you drink this." Harry recognised the man as the blond from the bar and assessed his most vital parts for any sort of intrusion.

Noting. No pain but the pounding in his temple, he mustn't have bottomed the night before, and judging by his still clothed body, he mustn't have topped either.

He brought the cup to his lips and cringed at the terribly bitter after taste.

"Sorry, Harry. I haven't been able to get that cough syrup taste out of the drought yet. I've only recently started brewing the stuff not too long ago. And potions were hardly my thing."

"You're a wizard?" he reasoned, doing well to hide the surprise in his voice. "What're you doing here?"

Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, the man smirked, "I could ask you the same. What's the famous Harry Potter doing back in Muggle London? You just returned not too long ago, didn't you?"

"I'm guessing you keep up with the papers?"

"More so than I had when I lived there, yeah. And you've been centre stage for the past couple of months. You looked terrible last night, by the way. But, I couldn't very well pass up the opportunity to shag the Boy Who Lived, eh?"

Blinking away most of the migraine, Harry chuckled at the blond's bluntness. "I guess we …"

"No, you passed out well before anything could happen. Just a bit of kissing."

"I guess I should apologise for the lack of story," he offered all too cavalierly.

The man shrugged. "You could tell me what you're doing back? It's the least you could do."

_Because I'm a pansy?_

"Too complicated over there. Too many expectations. Too many obligations. It's simpler over here. People normally don't know who I am and I don't have to worry about getting attached, I guess."

"Lost a lot after the war, huh? Tired of losing, right?"

Harry nodded and finished the laced tea. "Exactly."

"You know, you can't win either if you're not prepared to lose, Harry. Figured a war hero would know that."

_What the hell do you know_?"I should probably get going."

Again, his shoulders rose and fell without particular care. "If you have a fireplace, you're welcome to use my floo."

"Thanks," Harry returned bitterly, unready to accept the earlier insight.

"Take care. Guess I'll see you around."

Ignoring the best wishes, Harry muttered his address, took a handful of powder and fell through his own flat.

A bird pecked at his window with what looked to be a piece of parchment. Surely, people couldn't already have found him. He'd lasted three years in hiding without bother and he certainly hadn't left a trail this time either.

The writing on the letter was scratchy and looked a bit like Charlie's.

Resisting the urge to smack himself, Harry unfolded the note and read:

_Harry, sorry to bother you. Got your address from Ron and Hermione. Draco's been arrested. No detail on why, but _rumour_ has it that Karina's mother is back. Figured you __ought__ to know. _

_All the best, _

_Charlie_

He fell into a chair he hadn't remembered purchasing and slumped slowly. The world seemed to stand still—along with his heart that ceased the hammering in his ears.

_Draco _…


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter Nineteen_

The cell was exactly as he'd remembered it—cold, barren of life and stinking of regret and imminent doom. This time, however, the danger was real. Draco was not this innocent boy without real reason to fear. He was a man of reason now—with no one to vouch for him but an ex-Death Eater mother, a twice-former prisoner possibly suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, and a five-year-old girl who, coincidentally, was a product of the current prisoner and past prisoner.

Not posing an imminent threat and having a touch of advantage due to his recent affairs, Draco was fortunate enough to at least be locked in a solitary cell.

Gave him the opportunity to think and plan aloud—really calculate his next move.

Being wandless didn't exactly expedite the situation, but it certainly hadn't deterred his sanity either. An _Alohomora _wouldn't break through the charmed cell door and even if he could break free from Azkaban, where did he expect to go? Expect to _do? _He couldn't very well walk out of this prison at a leisurely pace to his home or centre, pack Karina on his back and look for someplace new. The idea was ludicrous enough to crack a smile upon Draco's terribly indomitable features. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

If he could make a plea for a fair trial, whom could he call on?

His mother. His daughter. Elizabeth.

All ridiculously bias.

Perhaps Terence, but Merlin knows what his reaction would be after being enlightened to the whole situation.

Reaction was key—and any other potentially viable witness would have to be positively sympathetic towards the gravity of the situation in order to be of any service to Draco.

He absolutely was not in need of a person to freeze at the stand after pleading Draco's innocence and recoiling his or her previous support following the truth.

No, his witnesses had to have come to terms with the deeds far before they'd come to the stand.

And in Draco's mind, none but one opinion stood out as both sane and credible.

Harry Sodding Potter.

The metaphorical and now literal pain in his arse would have to be called upon again in his defence.

Another amusing idea since the man left and would otherwise know nothing about the case. His two mediators were off in Muggle America and Draco never thought to rely on Ginevra to possibly contact Harry. She arrested him, after all.

He wasn't the slightest bit offended. If the tables were turned, Draco surely wouldn't look the other way. If someone had the gall to touch Karina in any way she wasn't comfortable with, even an accidental brush of arms, the wizard would kill them without a moment's hesitation.

Draco understood why he was here. Draco supported his being here. However, taking away Karina's father ate at his insides. He didn't want to leave her here. She'd come so far from having her mother taken from her and now she'd have to have the conscious memory of her father dying to live with.

_Look what that's done to Harry _…

His mother's screams were rumoured to haunt the Hero's dreams. That selfless act at infancy carried over twenty years. No telling where his death would carry after filtering through the intellect of a five-year-old. Much more liable to damage the psyche than in an infant's confused memory.

And what if, by some miracle, he was relieved of the charges? What happened with Karina, then? Naturally, he would have Elizabeth stay with them.

If Karina wished it …

Perhaps Karina would want to leave with her mother—to wherever they lived before she'd tumbled through the floo.

Elizabeth had raised her after all.

Draco loved her. More than he could ever begin to rationalise. He would sooner stop breathing before causing her an ounce of pain. He would marry Elizabeth if it made the child happy. They could all live together, despite Draco's _condition_.He'd played the part for years—the part of a straight man. Certainly, he could play the role for the rest of his life.

He would do anything for Karina. _Anything_.

If that meant denouncing his identity, he would always choose his daughter over himself.

_Always_.

Footsteps alluded towards his nearing company and a high voice resonated in his ears.

"Daddy!" Karina called, running towards the bars and trying desperately to force her head between the steel. Of course, her face was too wide, and magic would have shrunk the space otherwise. "Daddy! I miss you! When are you coming home? Mum's home and we can all be home together now!"

Grey eyes welled with tears at her outburst of excitement. Gulping his own trepidation and inhaling through his nostrils, he touched the tip of her nose with the tip of his finger, bent to her level and held her face in his hands.

"Sweetheart, I can't come home yet."

Coming to stand behind her, Elizabeth couldn't seem to meet Draco's eyes. She didn't speak or even breathe loud enough to validate life. The blond hadn't managed to meet her gaze either. Whether from fear of the look he'd receive in return, or the incredible possibility of his body spontaneously combusting from the past catching up with him, Draco was not prepared to risk such a sight in front of his daughter.

"How are you," he whispered, the question posed to Elizabeth, but spoken towards Karina as he brushed hair needlessly behind her ears. "Mother's taking care of you, I assume?"

Luckily, Draco felt brave enough to venture a quick peek otherwise; he would have missed her wordless nods. "H-hasn't s-stopped the interrog-gation since I arrived."

An airy laugh escaped Draco's lips with a hollowed echo reverberating around the cell's walls. "You're nervous," he observed. "No need to be."

Another silence stretched without her contribution to the conversation, and suddenly, Draco repented, "I wish I had been there with you and our daughter. None of this would have happened."

"You would've died then. No questions asked. You have a chance now, don't you? With all the good you've done?"

The former Slytherin shrugged. "I don't know what they'll do to me."

Draco had been ready to die during his first trial. Waiting for the verdict with a solemn acceptance of his fate. What had he done to deserve life? Even now, aside from the irrational and unconditional love for his daughter, he couldn't find a sensible reason to keep himself alive. His centre would be well cared for in his absence. He wouldn't leave a significant other. His mother would mourn, but stand strong for Karina.

His removal from the world would disturb nothing.

"They've told me the trials will begin as soon as possible," she assured Draco in attempts to comfort, "You know I'll say whatever I can to have them release you."

"I appreciate that, Elizabeth. Truly, I do. But, they think you're suffering some sort of traumatic bout of Stockholm Syndrome. I can't say I blame them, it was very common after the war."

The woman's eyes narrowed, "I think I'm sane enough to make my own decisions."

"What's Stocky Cinder?" Karina wondered, raking her nails over the bars in a random rhythm—delightful to her ears.

"It's a type of cold, Dear. Like the flu."

"Oh," the girl reflected, tipping her chin to the side in thought. "Daddy! Maybe Harry can come make Mum some soup and tea? Then you can tell him you're sorry for making him run away again. And we can all live together! He can share my room and Mummy can share your room." As if struck by the ultimate answer, Karina beamed bright enough to light the entirety of the dim prison, "We can all share the same room! Grandma too! It'll be like a big sleepover, but we'll have it every day!"

_If she were ever more darling, I wouldn't be able to handle it_.

"Harry Potter? Would Harry Potter come to your aid again?"

Remembering she knew nothing of Draco's recent past, the wizard groped for some sort of explanation.

"He's been missing for years and he's just left again. I don't know where he's gone. And wouldn't ask him if I did." His tone was stiff and cold like the bars of steel encompassing him. "Couldn't ask."

"Surely your whole rivalry can't have survived. You were children. You're older now—able to move on from such immature nonsense for the good of a child, right?"

_If only it were still so simple_.

Harry'd gotten over their rivalry four years ago … at least, he'd put it behind him long enough to defend the Slytherin Prince. This was different—strange and incomprehensible in comparison.

"Everything will work out the way it should, Elizabeth," he said with every ounce of belief and conviction in his words.

"And if you …" Elizabeth stopped and motioned with her viridian eyes to finish the thought.

_Die_,he thought. _If I die_.

"You'll take care of her. My mother will take care of both of you. Of everything."

"What about my family? Draco, what will—"

Draco raised a hand to politely silence his company, "_Everything_."

* * *

><p>It'd been a week since Harry received Charlie's letter. And the note looked ages old from the number of times he found his way over to the bedside drawer withholding it. He wasn't the sixteen-year-old boy in need of saving, in fact, Draco specifically asked him not to be a hero anymore.<p>

He couldn't save everyone. He wouldn't save everyone. And he needed to become used to the fact.

His hero days died along with Voldemort.

What would it matter anyway? He wasn't this prominent figure in the Magical World anymore. Hell, he wasn't even _Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor _anymore. The pull he once exuded in years past was gone. His lasting redeeming feature happened to be the lightning bolt on his forehead. And it hardly had anything to say.

The cup in his hands steadily cooled. He never made coffee and too right he was not to. The brown liquid tasted like chalk and salt—neither of which was actually added consciously to the mixture. Rotating the cup in his left hand, Harry unfolded the parchment with his right and again scanned the words, convincing himself there was nothing to be done on his part.

_If I go back, I'll make a fool of myself and _…

_And what?_

If he didn't return, what would become of Draco? No doubt there weren't many on his side, and even the smallest voice counted for something … didn't it?

Harry never wanted to care—he never wanted to feel anything complex for Draco. Even when they were together, a small part of him hoped—while consummating—that he would find them incompatible.

But, of course, Draco was perfect.

Flawed. Beautiful. Proud.

A disaster if he'd ever seen one.

Perfect.

The Man Who Lived hated every fibre of the blond's being for forcing him to feel. He'd been so empty for so long. It was comforting—the monotony of consistency. The love deficiency may have left him lonely, but he was safe there. Safe without needing to worry about anyone else's well-being.

He loved Draco, though. No matter how much he fought the fact, it was fact. As true as the scars decorating his alabaster skin …

The brunet slept with a number of men—countless times apiece. Never had he felt the completeness he experienced with Draco. Never had he felt his own release to be of second most importance. Never had he _wanted_ to be gentle, to make the moment last as long as possible.

Never had he wanted to _stay_.

"Fuck!" Harry shouted as the mug shattered in his hand. It could have been excess magic from stress, or he may have forgotten the strength of his grip. Either way, his hand was now bleeding onto his slacks and over the letter now resting in his lap.

The wizard let the paper fall to the floor upon rising and ran to his cramped bathroom to wash the cut and wrap it in gauze. Casting a look at the mirror on the medicine cabinet, Harry noted the dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn't slept peacefully since he arrived home.

_Because this isn't home anymore _…

"_Fuck_," the wizard groaned once more, this time not from the pain in his hand, which was disappearing quickly, but from the physical stab to his stomach, crying desperately for him to see to Draco.

He exited the bathroom and paced towards the floo, grabbed a handful of powder and turned to take one last glance at his flat.

There was no knowing when or if he'd return.

"The Ministry of Magic."

* * *

><p>"What were you thinking, Weasley?" Pansy barked, spitting her rage towards her red haired partner. Ginny blew hair from her eyes and continued to read through Draco's case files as though Pansy weren't only centimetres from her person. "I know you can hear me, and what the bloody <em>fuck <em>were you _thinking?_"

"I was doing my job," she offered without looking away from the papers in her hand. "If it were anyone else, you'd have done worse."

"And if it were anyone else, you wouldn't have treated them as harshly." The counterpoint served to tighten the odd and unusual sense of guilt in the spy's stomach. "What do you have against Draco? He didn't kill your brother. And his aunt tried to kill you—not him. What has he done to you? Hm?"

"Pansy, not everyone needs to hold some ridiculous grudge over someone in order to maintain the law."

The infuriated Auror slapped Draco's file from Ginny's hand shifted forwards so that their noses almost touched. "The law? The _law_? Law says anyone using an Unforgivable is just that—unforgivable. What curses has your family used? If the law were _just__—_you'd all be behind bars. _I'd _be behind bars. How many criminals have you felt sorry for since we've started? You're companionate—that's why you get the victims and I get the bad guys. You hate hurting people, but you jump at the opportunity to arrest Draco. What is this, Ginny? Some vendetta against Potter for crushing your sixteen-year-old heart?"

"He didn't crush my heart," she protested in earnest. "And even if he had, I wouldn't let that affect my judgment. What kind of point would it prove? Should I get a laugh out of possibly ruining a family just for the simple pleasure of watching Harry squirm?"

"Typical Ginevra Molly. Always talking out of her fucking arse. You don't see it? You're not ruining a family—you're ruining something much larger. What happens to the children of a centre run by a rapist? You think they'd keep it up?" The question was rhetorical, and no room was left for the slightest answer. "Absolutely not. They'll be separated from each other. Any relationships they've made, any comfort they've finally come across will be _gone_.Disappeared. And _again_,they're forced to start over—with strangers."

Ginny swallowed audibly, her eyes shifting between each hand on her lap. This was legally appropriate, but morally … could she live with the guilt? Draco confessed and Elizabeth told the most heart-breaking tale. She hadn't blamed Draco for a stitch of unhappiness. According to her story, it was her choice. The act was _her_ choice. But, how much of that was believable?

How many cases ended in a seriously deranged victim? Trauma could alter any story. Trauma could change a person completely.

There were too many grey areas to believe in someone with no credibility to support him.

"How can you believe her?"

Pursing her lips, and backing deftly away from her partner, Pansy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't believe her. I believe Draco. I _trust_ Draco. He may have grown softer since the war, but _never _has he _ever _allowed a person the satisfaction of accusing him of things he hasn't done. Tabloids are one thing and hardly count; they're terribly difficult to get take hold of. Draco's honest, Ginny.

"Speaks his mind. A right prat most of the time, but he's a genuine person. Couldn't hurt _anyone. _Well, dismissing Potter since I'm certain that's been pent up sexual frustration from second year at the earliest. You didn't see him outside of school, or back in the dorms. If you had, you would have seen how afraid he was. How terrified he was with the weight of his family always looming over him. He had obligations too, Weasley. And he broke all of them for Potter—for the greater good."

* * *

><p>"Robards! I need to see you this instant," Harry bawled over the chaos of the Auror's offices, barging through the Head Officer's doors with a distraught secretary in tow.<p>

"I'm sorry, Mr Robards. I tried to keep him from—"

Dismissing the apology, the man waved his trembling help away and she scowled at Harry before leaving confines of the small room.

"What can I do you for, Harry? It's been a while. You look well." Robards didn't look from the files he was penning as he addressed the Man Who Lived. Looking upwards for the slimmest of moments, the Head Auror offered a crooked smile. "Scratch that. You look like shit. What happened to your hand?"

"Cut it on a mug," he explained. "But, I'm not here for my hand."

"You're sure?" Pressing a button on the corner of his desk, the secretary's voice sounded. "Carol, bring in a Healer. Anyone will do."

"That really isn't necessary, Robards. It's a cut." Frustrated with a lack of urgency, Harry ran his unmarred hand through dishevelled hair and exhaled heavily the breath he'd been holding. "What's the status on Malfoy's case?"

"Not to dampen that complex you've rediscovered, but that isn't at all your business. You gave up the chance to be an Auror years ago."

"Head Auror," Harry corrected, feeling a sense of smugness rise in his chest as the door opened to reveal an unnamed Healer. "Hello, really, my hand is fine. It'll heal on its own."

The man took the appendage gingerly and unwrapped it, casting a spell over the wound. "Nonsense, Mister Potter. I'm already finished."

He winced slightly at his skin tugging back together, but wordlessly thanked the Healer for his time. No doubt he would have botched the spells himself.

"Wonderful bravado, Mister Potter. But, what you could have been has nothing to do with now. I wouldn't have enough information to give you even if you had the right to know it. Passed that case onto Weasley and Finnigan."

"Seamus?"

The Auror chuckled a harsh laugh, "You think that dolt made it through training? Better at catching fire than Death Eaters. I'm talking about his wife, Pansy."

_Guess they'll let anyone in._

"She's good at her job, Potter. Damn good, actually. Doesn't take anyone's bollocks. And could probably kick the tar out of you if she had a mind to."

"I'm sure she does," Harry muttered, bitter still about his history with the Slytherin. Draco he could understand. Pansy? Well, Pansy was the type of train wreck too dangerous not to look away from. "Are they in today?"

"I don't know what you want from them. They won't provide any information for you. The case is private."

"I assume he'll be tried—like last time?" he asked needlessly. Of course the answer would prove affirmative.

"Guilty until proven innocent and all that garbage," Robards agreed, leaning in his chair and folding his fingers together behind his head.

"I'd like to stand for Draco Malfoy in trial. A witness for the defence."

The Head Auror's face lost any trace of colour and seemed to turn blank with inhibited confusion. "Do you know this case at all? And you want to support it?"

"Did I stutter, Robards? I believe I spoke rather plainly. I know what he's done and I'd like my name on his list of witnesses."

"It's a short list," he stated tersely.

"And I have a short temper," Harry retorted, just as curt.

Scribbling something on a discarded parchment, Robards glared at the Chosen One, searching his eyes for answers Harry couldn't specifically say. "The hearing's in two days. At noon. I'm sure you remember where they're held."

"Thanks, Robards."

He left the office and shot a quick glower towards the receptionist who had given him such a dreadfully hard time. In his anger, he hardly registered the newly named Finnigan he nearly toppled over in passing.

"Merlin's beard, Potter! Do watch your step, will you?" she shrieked, clutching her folders in her arms to keep from disrupting their contents. "I can't believe you've lived this long without tripping over yourself and dying."

"A pleasure as always to see you as well, Pansy."

With an exasperated groan, Pansy shook her head in distaste. "What are you doing here, Potter? Last I heard, there's no Dark Lord on patrol, so I doubt Robards called you for assistance."

Raising his arms in mock defeat, Harry conceded, more willing to give in to this witch rather than argue with a wall. "I promise I'm here for a mutual cause. Malfoy's case. I want to be a witness for it."

"Well I'll be fucked," she mused, jutting her hip outward and cupping the side of her stomach with her free hand. "Really though, I would be fucked if you weren't here. Golden Boy's on my side? Can't say your old flame will feel the same, but I was never too crazy about her to begin with."

"Ginny? What does she have to do with this?"

Cocking her head to the side, Pansy raised an eyebrow carefully, "I don't know if anyone's told you, but she turned Draco in. We found Elizabeth on the case that little ginger twit was ignoring to go to a wedding and that girl made the horrendous mistake of trusting Ginevra with her confession."

Befuddled with the new detail, the wizard racked his brain for some sort of elucidation. "I-I don't understand. Elizabeth gave him permis—"

"Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?" Harry nodded. _That Beauty and the Beast thing _…"Would you trust someone's judgment if they may be suffering from it? The girl doesn't even blame the recent Death Eaters who captured her."

"So, where is she?"

Pansy shrugged. "With his mother, I'd guess. It's not like she's being watched too closely. She hasn't done anything. But, I wouldn't recommend seeing her. She's bloody pissed."

"When have I ever taken one of your recommendations seriously?" Harry bluntly jibed, searching for some reason to hate this haughty witch and wondering for a moment if all Slytherin's should be so proud.

_Damn sure seems like it._

"Considering the fact that she _could _kill you, you have my blessing, Potter. Hurry along, now. Wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to die again!" And in a flurry of random parchments and robes, she brushed passed Harry and vanished amongst a sea of cubicles.

Never, if he had the drive or a lifetime to discern, would he ever understand that woman. How she passed the mental examination of the Auror exam, he'd never believe as anything other than an oversight or bribery.

* * *

><p>"How was he?" Narcissa wondered aloud, putting Karina down for a nap and tiptoeing from the room as to not perturb her.<p>

Elizabeth stood without speaking, vacantly staring at the eldest Malfoy. "I think he's okay."

"Okay? Please, Child. Give me a bit more than that. He's my son. I need to know he's more than okay? Frightened? Worried? At ease? Anything, Elizabeth."

"He knows you'll take care of everything. He's only afraid for Karina."

The older witch blinked rapidly. "He was always so brave."

"I know," she agreed, leaning against the nearest wall of the Manor for support. "Will they let him live?"

Narcissa didn't answer.

A boisterous knock sounded at the door and the witches could hear a house elf tending to the visitor. Echoing through the otherwise tensely silent home was the unmistakable voice of Harry Potter.

Taking two steps at a time, the grey haired woman bounded towards her company.

"A Mister Harry Potter is lookin'ta speak wits you," the elf said pointlessly as Narcissa already knew this man's identity.

"Thank-you, Blinkey. Hello, Potter. You've heard the news, I would assume?" she asked stoically. With a troubled nod, Narcissa gestured towards the family room for the pair to sit. "Blinkey, please bring Mister Potter a—"

"Tea, if you have it, please."

"And a shot of firewhiskey for me, thank-you. Don't make me drink alone, Potter," Narcissa said shamelessly. And he wordlessly complied with the offer. "That's a good lad."

In an instant, the elf returns with two piping hot cups of tea, two shot glasses and half a bottle of firewhiskey. Knowing the Malfoys, he wouldn't have thought them to drink such plebeian liquids, but it would be the finest if they were to stoop lower than their self-entitled status.

"A bit early for this, isn't it?" Harry mused, downing the alcohol that burned his eyes and caused an involuntary shudder to roll over his body.

Wincing along with him, Narcissa hissed. "It's not every day your son is on trial for rape and abandonment."

"I heard Elizabeth was staying here. Could I meet her?"

From the entryway, someone cleared their throat, and the pair was alerted to Harry's request.

"You're Harry Potter," she breathed, walking uneasily to his side. "It's a privilege to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine, Elizabeth. Karina looks so much like you—well, besides the eyes of course. Those are her father's."

"They are," she concurred, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in self-consciousness. "He's told me about you. What happened, I mean. And I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to help him win this."

A single tear fell from Elizabeth's eye and she reached for Harry's hand. Squeezing it as tightly as she squeezed her eyes shut, Elizabeth made to sit beside the wizard and take solace in his confidence.

Perhaps he had a chance after all.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter Twenty_

"Karina—do settle, will you? I can't very well tie your bow if you keep squirming," Narcissa huffed, accidentally tying her own finger in the bow's knot. "What's got you so worked up?"

The little girl beamed and giggled at her grandmother's annoyed state. "We're bringing Daddy home today! I missed him a whole bunch."

"Sweetheart," the woman said carefully, searching Karina's excited eyes. They were so much like her father's. This age was nearly the very same age Draco had met Elizabeth. Narcissa remembered—remembered all too clearly the innocent spark that left her child's eyes after he returned home from the retreat where he met Elizabeth for the first time. Not for the world would she again be responsible for her own flesh and blood's untimely demise. Surely, though, she couldn't lie to Karina. She wouldn't make promises to this little girl that she couldn't keep. "You know your father may not come home with us."

"Yes he will. Harry's here now. And Harry got him home last time." There was no doubt to her small voice. Every word filled Narcissa's ears with hope as she heaved her son's gift to her chest.

At the very least, she would have Karina.

"You know what? You're right." Pulling away, she smiled sincerely and stood at full height, offering her hand to Karina. The girl wrapped her tiny fingers around Narcissa's pinkie and glanced upwards. "Let's have breakfast."

"Can we have waffles with chocolate and strawberries? Oh! And ice cream with treacle chips? Harry loves treacle treats."

The grandmother laughed lightly and led the young girl to the kitchens. "You're sure it's _only_ for Harry?"

Bashfully, Karina climbed a stool without making eye contact. "Well, I like them too. And Mummy might not have tried them before—and she might like them."

"Sure. Sure. We can have all of that, if you promise to help me make them and clean up the mess?"

"Can I wear the special cooking hat?" she wondered, moving to her knees and leaning over the countertop to blink heavily with the widest puppy dog eyes. Draco used to win her over with the same face, and her granddaughter was absolutely no exception.

Pursing her lips and mentally reprimanding herself for her softness, Narcissa sifted through a drawer and revealed a round baker's hat. She fluffed the fabric towards the top and placed the hat on Karina's head—forgetting the bow entirely.

"Ready!" she sang, flushing in exuberance. "Gimme a bowl and the chocolate!"

"I think I'll take care of the chocolate, Dear," Narcissa decided and ignored the disappointment evident on Karina's face.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth meticulously went over the questions she would be asked about the case in the next few hours. Subconsciously, she straightened the hem of her shirt and tucked an already set piece of hair behind her ear. Her hands shook with nervous abandon and she twined her fingers to keep from fidgeting. Taking in shallow breaths, her head began to feel light with fear. Fear for the possible outcome. Fear for knowing that if she were to have kept her story to herself, perhaps she could have sorted everything out on her own. With Draco. On <em>their <em>terms.

The guilt was irrational. She did nothing but tell the truth. And Draco could have denied the fact.

Elizabeth would have agreed to anything that made Karina's life as normal as humanly feasible.

Yet here she was, studying lines as if someone else had scripted her life. Here she was, seeking guidance in a room as empty as air.

Here she was, about to change her life forever.

A tentative knock sounded at the door, and Elizabeth nearly fell from her chair at the abruptness of the noise.

"Sorry I startled you," Harry apologised, "May I come in?"

She nodded, not trusting the strength in her voice and tucked her notes into her purse before rising to meet Harry's troubled gaze. "You're worried," she observed, studying his stance shift from one foot to the other. "Why are you doing this for Draco? If you don't mind me asking."

"Should I not?" he countered, a bit of malice shone through his tone.

"I didn't say that. What I mean is—during the war, he was an innocent. And you were defending countless people at the same time. Four years have gone by. You needn't stand for him and risk guilt otherwise. What's in this for you? There must be something."

Harry's eyes narrowed in discontent. "I don't need a reason to go against the law when it's wrong."

"It isn't your business is what I was trying to politely get at."

"It's what you were avoiding. There was no kindness in the least. The simple fact of the matter is that I l—" He stopped, and coughed the remainder of his thought. Quickly, his face reddened and he raked a hand through his bed-worn hair. Elizabeth wondered momentarily if he owned a comb and dismissed the idea completely as the end of his cut-off resonated within her mind.

Why else would he be here? Why else would the Saviour of the Wizarding World jeopardise his untouched name with the losing case of a 'reformed' Death Eater?

Why would anyone stand for something so obviously lost?

"You love him," she whispered with every ounce of conviction she could ever remember having. "You love him enough to come back and ruin yourself."

Harry chewed at his bottom lip and continued to scratch at the back of his head. "I do," he stated simply.

"How?" Of course the notion was ludicrous. How could you love someone you grew to hate? Someone who represented all that was against you—whether voluntarily or not.

The man shrugged. "Couldn't begin to understand it if I tried. He's a good man. A great father. And so painfully beautiful that I could beat the piss out of him for leaving this world without him."

"But, _you_ left? Draco told me you'd gone back to the Muggle world. Why would you leave if you love him?"

_It doesn't make sense _…

"Elizabeth, I know it may be hard to fathom, but I'm not perfect," he offered cynically. "I've seen what happens to the people I love and let love me. Nothing good, I can assure you. I came here for my friends' wedding. Draco was a blip in a plan that I was hardly prepared for. I was granted the opportunity to work with him on this centre and I met him all over again. Met the man who really lived behind the aristocratic heir and haughty demeanour. I fell for his daughter and all her attitude. Everything that was so wonderful in Draco—doubled in her.

"But, I couldn't hate his flaws either. Or his scars—having caused one myself." He chuckled then at the bitter memory. "I found his arrogance endearing. His confidence remarkably brave. His cunning inspiring. And his heart as lovely a disaster as the man he's always been. I couldn't have him give up the opportunity to be truly happy without me. He has another man who's perfect. They'll give each other exactly what they're looking for. Even if I could convince myself that he might've cared for me at one point, I wouldn't dream of making any sort of advancement. He deserves better. He deserves a real family and a hero based on skill instead of luck."

"How noble of you," Elizabeth assured with a roll of her eyes. "Sounds like you're afraid to me. You'd rather hide on that ridiculously high throne of yours, away from all of us, and live in some fantasy world where you're doing the world a favour by disappearing."

"You don't know _anything _about the matter. And I know you've been through more than I could imagine, but I'll ask you not to assume you know me. Very few do."

It was excruciatingly obvious that the Hero was masking his temper well. He looked to be fuming if the shaking room around them was anything to go by.

"Mummy and Harry! Breakfast is ready!" Karina interrupted, stampeding into the room and jumping into her mother's arms. "Do you like waffles still, Mummy?" she asked, planting a wet kiss to her mother's cheek.

"I like anything you make, Love."

This must have been the correct response because the girl soon snuggled into Elizabeth's neck and blew raspberries into the woman's skin.

"Do you like waffles, Harry?"

"I'm not feeling so hungry, Karina. Thank-you, though." The man looked wretched—like their conversation drained him totally.

"We have ice cream with treacle chips too! You have to eat it because I made us special bowls. I even gave you the red spoon. That's my favourite spoon." Her eyes were so large and cartoonish in their relentless request. "Please?"

Harry's tension seemed to dissolve and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly in amusement. "Of course we'll have ice cream for breakfast, you spoiled brat you!" His tone was playful and Karina beamed with a sweet titter to accompany her smile.

The Man Who Lived led the party down towards the dining area felt an odd sense of distress. The last time he'd seen this room, he was a captive of the home. Suddenly, that stress melted away as he also remembered that this was where Draco had proven himself loyal to Harry specifically.

"Mr Potter, I trust you'll be sitting near Karina. She won't have it otherwise."

Narcissa placed something resembling a dessert in front of Harry and the man took the spoon in his hand, eyeing Karina before placing the bite in his mouth. He let the flavour sit for a moment before making an audible _mmm _sound and rubbing his stomach.

"Karina, you couldn't have made this on your own. Surely, you hired the best chef in the world."

Looking scandalised, the child hit her tiny fist off the table. "That's not true! I made that all by myself! Didn't I, Grandma?" Her voice dripped desperation.

"She did, Potter." Even with his surname in tow, her own pleasure was hardly disguised.

"Well, then! It's the most delicious treat I've ever tasted. Thank-you Karina." Harry leaned sideways and pressed a kiss to Karina's hair—pride illuminating her features to a near urethral sight. "Who taught you to how to do this?"

"Seamus taught me. I'm not allowed to play with the stove, so he taught me how to make cold stuff. Daddy doesn't like Seamus playing with the stove either."

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She hadn't the same experiences as the table. Didn't know the same people.

Could she fit here?

"Eat up, Karina," Elizabeth ushered. "We have a terribly long day to look forward to."

"Mummy," the girl started, standing on her chair and reaching across the table to take her mother's hand. "Don't be sad. Harry's gonna fix everything. Right, Harry?"

_Maybe he is as perfect as they said _…

"I'll try, Karina," he promised, turning to Elizabeth. "I'll do everything I can."

"See? Now, eat your waffles before they get cold."

A smirk played on the mother's lips and a small snicker could be heard from the end of the table.

"She's her father's daughter."

* * *

><p>Draco scratched at the scruff growing on his chin. He hadn't a shave, or spelled shave in over a week and he absolutely detested the scraggly feel of the stubble lining his jaw. A smooth, clean face always looked more presentable on his face- considering the fact that his beard grew in blond, making his head look oddly misshapen.<p>

He hoped that they would allow him to clean himself up. On his first round of trials, his facial hair was non-existent. Now, however, he probably looked like a homeless ruffian—and that hardly made for a convincing case.

"Malfoy," a boisterous voice barked from the other side of the bars. "The trial's about to start."

Draco recognised this man from years previous. This was the same guard who allowed his entrance to speak with his father during the one and only visit he made with the man. Judging by the sympathetic glint in his eye, Draco could deduce that he was remembered as well.

"Thank-you. I don't suppose I'll have the opportunity to charm off some of this stubble before we start, eh?" he wondered flippantly. A tickle trickled over his skin and he touched the backs of his fingers to his chin.

Frightfully smooth.

"I appreciate it," he added sincerely.

"Good thing you were doing—helping those kids. Giving them a place to stay. What happens if they decide to give you the Kiss?" The question was apathetic, but curious. "Do those kids get to stay?"

The blond shrugged, more dishevelled inside than out. "I hope so. My mother would take over at that point."

"I remember her. Didn't cry after your dad …" he paused, finding his political correctness a bit late in the conversation. "Either very strong or something else."

_What an assumption! If it isn't this, well, it could possibly be something else … Genius!_

Fighting the bone crunching force of his eyes needing to roll, Draco nodded. "Both."

"Ah, well. So it goes, eh? If you wouldn't mind holding out your hands, I'll cuff you and lead you to the courtroom."

Readily complying, Draco thrust his wrists outward and waited for the cold metal to touch his skin. The inner mechanics of the restraining devise clicked and the older man spelled the bar door open.

"Shall we?" The blond didn't respond and simply allowed himself to be handled down a dim hallway and up a few flights of steps. Even in the short amount of time he was kept imprisoned, Draco needed to squint and shield his eyes from the offending rays of the midday sun.

Entering the courtroom, Draco felt an odd bout of déjà vu send goose bumps over his flesh. The primal instinct of fear and self-preservation finally settled in the pit of his stomach and he took a seat in the centre of the room, only then letting his eyes gaze over the jury and witnesses.

His own defence seemed strangely full and uncharacteristically formidable.

He scanned the defence from left to right, noticing first and foremost his daughter, mother, and the mother of his daughter. To their left sat Pansy and Seamus—Seamus was of course irritated and glancing at his watch with a heavy sigh and drooping head. Pansy smiled and waved, as though they were running into each other at the market.

Draco loved that about the witch—how she couldn't seem to take life and death situations seriously.

Next to the couple followed Blaise Zabini and Astoria—more than likely addressed by Pansy to the event. Both carried an air of doubt and trepidation in their features. Bickering beside the Zabini pair was Luna and George Lovegood. He couldn't hear the argument, but by the looks of it, George was terribly aggravated and Luna was desperately trying to straighten his tie.

Hermione Granger studied the couple incredulously. And Draco understood her distress. This was a trial after all …

Couldn't George behave for a moment?

And lastly, head bowed towards his lap, and foot tapping incessantly, sat Harry James Saviour of the Wizarding World Potter—Merlin's greatest creation and Gryffindor's star pupil.

Here.

At _his _trial. Nervously anticipating _his _case.

A lump formed in the back of Draco's throat. Before he could precisely identify Harry's motives, a gavel echoed throughout the small room and the man in question snapped to full attention.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. You are here in regards to the following charges: rape, neglect, and knowingly withholding information germane to the cases still pending of past and current Death Eaters. If you find it beneficial to your case, you may now make a statement."

Clearing his throat, Draco stood, immediately feeling the lightheaded effects of refusing both dinner and breakfast out of a nervous hypochondriac's illness. He only swayed for a moment before regaining his balance. A tiny gasp floated towards his ears and signalled the crowd's knowledge of his minor setback.

"I accept every charge. My past is inexcusable and I cannot change it. I would never change it. Giving up my daughter would be impossible. And I would commit every evil in the world to assure her existence. In my defence, I had no knowledge of Karina until a year ago. Therefore, abandonment was not done consciously."

The judge pursed his lips and shuffled through the papers in front of him. "With the accused at rest, will there stand a witness in his defence?"

Draco dare not look behind him lest he want to vomit any nutrients his body stored away before his unplanned starvation. His throat was far too dry for comfort and he felt a touch of relief as Narcissa and Karina stood between him and the judge.

For a moment, he thought no one would testify.

"I am Narcissa Malfoy, mother of Draco Malfoy and this is Karina, daughter of Draco Malfoy and Elizabeth London. We are here to swear on behalf of the accused."

"State your case," the man said curtly, adjusting his glasses that fell towards the tip of his nose.

"I'd appreciate a more sympathetic tone, your _honour_, " Narcissa practically hissed. "It isn't every day that your only son is being held at the edge of a Kiss over unfair charges."

Draco could have convulsed from laughter, luckily, his troubled stomach urged him otherwise and he merely coughed. George hadn't fared as well, snickering with a short snort and a sharp intake of breath accompanied by a grunt. No doubt both Hermione and Luna elbowed him in the ribcage.

"If anyone is to blame for Draco's misguided judgment, it should be me. I shouldn't have placed the value of our name on his shoulders. He was a child then. He's still _my _child. It was survival for himself and for his family."

Obviously, the judge was angered by Narcissa's previous outburst. She did not wait for his comment or dismissal. Instead, she took Karina by the hand and led her outside. Draco inwardly thanked her for keeping the girl from earshot. She had already probably heard more than appropriate.

"Next witness!" he bellowed.

The wait was not nearly as long as the first.

Each new speech in Draco's vindication was as stirring as the first. Perhaps the former Slytherin wasn't alone outside of his family. Each person spoke of character Draco felt shamefully unworthy of. Each new prospect of his potential good made a flush rise to his cheek.

Even Luna made some type of sense, though she did compare him to a puff pastry while referring to the intricate layers of his life.

At least it wasn't reference to another invisible fairy.

Finally, after listening to Hermione prattle on about the benefits of his centre and that she was with him every step of the way as far as planning its functionality was concerned, the final two witnesses stood together.

Elizabeth clutched onto Harry's arm, her knuckles white with strain. Harry did not look towards her or Draco, but straight ahead with a face that gave away nothing.

"Your names and relation to the accused."

"I am Harry James Potter. Draco and I went to school together. I defended his family during the last trial and have recently been an employee of his Orphanage." His voice allowed for no ounce of apathy. He could have been a stranger to Draco with the lack of concern he visibly showed.

If this were any other slice of time, Draco would have felt used and cast aside—angered at this hero's indifference.

Unrightfully so. What made Draco any different from the men Harry bedded before him? And how could he possibly worry about his standing with the great and wonderful Harry Potter when he could be facing the same fate as his father in a matter of hours?

Dreadful thing the mind is. Always tasteless and tactless.

"I am Elizabeth London, your honour. I am the mother of Karina."

The questioning man scrunched his nose in distaste. "How could you possibly support this man, Miss London?"

"Karina is a gift, sir. She's a blessing." Her voice trembled terribly. Harry placed his hand over the hand gripping his arm and brushed it lightly. He turned his face to hers and nodded with a small and knowing smile. "I gave him permission to complete his task. He would not have gone through with initiation otherwise. He risked his life to release me and it was my choice to keep Karina from him. I sent her to him before I was captured because I knew he would care for her."

"The matter does not portend to how you _felt _about the matter. How can there be a time where his crime is acceptable?"

"It wasn't a crime, your honour. I wasn't violated or harmed. Draco knew me. I knew him. The Death Eaters who killed my parents and brother—_they _were criminals. And I'm sick of hearing everyone tell me I'm sick with Stockholm Syndrome. I am completely sane. I sought medical attention after my original capture and I am impeccable in health. Thanks to Draco."

As if he heard enough, the judge switched his focus to Harry.

"And what say you, Mister Potter? Neither of you have any sort of positive history. His previous acts towards you do not apply to this case. You've been absent from this world for three years. What has he done to prove himself in the short amount of time you've been here?"

For the first time during the trial, Harry looked to Draco. It was brief, but the former Slytherin could clearly note the slight fear in his eye—the recognition of uncertain courage—the way he bit the edge of his bottom lip with worry, the way his shoulders slumped noticeably from his rigid stance…

"He's a good man, your honour. His centre is providing children with an opportunity they would not otherwise have. He's giving them hope. I only wish I was fortunate enough to have found a similar home when I was left to a family who had no intentions of ever really loving me. Draco's given this group a family to rely on. He's given Karina a father. You can't take someone away from the world that's done such good.

"He's made mistakes. Everyone has. Even you, sir. And should you be penalised for circumstances out of your control? Draco Malfoy and I never got on during school because we were too young to see the bigger picture. We're adults now—innocence stolen by the war—and I can see that he's just as much a hero as I was ever assumed to be. The one difference is that he _chose _to save these people. I didn't choose my life. Draco has consciously made an effort to be extraordinary and he doesn't deserve to be punished for acts of survival."

Harry's voice didn't waver for a moment. Draco would have presumed his speech to be rehearsed, but knowing Potter, he never prepared for anything and relied entirely on luck.

But, Draco would never have him any other way. Harry was wonderfully disorganised and brutally honest. He had too much hope for someone who had seen so much evil. Even if he felt and acted detached, he stuck by those who needed him.

He never could resist being a hero.

Maybe that's what Draco had always needed but was much too proud to ask for. A hero wrapped in misery and sarcasm. A hero he could compete with. A hero who would defeat his own stubborn nature against the compulsive need not to save himself.

Someone who has always been the constant in his life when no one else could be- not even his family.

Harry didn't change. The world changed.

Flipped entirely upside-down, the Boy Who Lived remained the same genuine person.

And Draco never realized, until this precise moment in time, that Harry was his lifeline. Literally and metaphorically speaking.

"Thank-you, Miss London, Mister Potter. I've heard enough. If you could exit the courtroom, I'd like to discuss Draco's sentence in private."

Soon, Draco was alone with the judge. His stare more than likely boring holes into Harry's back as he exited the room with Elizabeth.

_Now or never _…

Time hardly moved and Draco felt that sickening dizziness strike again after reminding himself to breathe.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, after hearing the testimonies of your peers and having the opportunity to review all of the evidence, I have decided to retract the Kiss from your original sentence."

_Well, that's good news._

"You will be free to go back to your centre and your life. Keep in mind that a custody hearing is not settled in this court. So, please keep those issues amongst yourselves. However, I am, sentencing you to a year of unscheduled visits from the Ministry. You will also be on call from this point until further notice to assist in pending cases in regards to renegade Death Eaters.

"We recognize that your children at the centre will come first, so we will work around that schedule as well. You will have to undergo training similar to an Auror or spy for the Ministry. That training will also be flexible, but it is mandatory."

Presenting a wand from beneath his robes, the judge flicked his wrist and Draco's shackles unlocked from his hands and clattered to the floor before dissolving completely.

"Am I free to leave?" he asked lamely, massaging the skin his cuffs had bruised.

An exasperated grunt escaped the older man's sagging lips and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Unless you've done something to keep you here, Mister Malfoy, I suggest you leave. And thank those witnesses of yours. You're very lucky to have such outstanding support."

"I will, sir. Thank-you."

Faster than he thought possibly, Draco rushed from the courtroom to an awaiting crowd. The smile on his face—strong enough to provide a slight discomfort—must have alerted them to the news they were waiting for.

Narcissa, holding Karina on her hip, assaulted Draco first. Both his mother and daughter attacked his face with tears and kisses.

He didn't know who patted his back or shook his hand. The entire situation blurred into a stream of random noises.

However, he did see Harry speaking with Hermione—away from the group. He did see Harry kiss her cheek and hug her before she returned to the commotion.

And he saw Harry leave without saying goodbye.

And he felt like a part of him was sinking.

"Daddy! We're gonna have a big, big party for you at work! Grandma got balloons!"

The blond looked to his mother, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Too presumptuous?"

* * *

><p>Narcissa must have kept Second Chances up to date on Draco's whereabouts, because at the instant he arrived, the entirety of the house erupted in immense celebration. Food seemed to line the walls of the eating hall for miles and Karina underestimated the sheer volume of balloons decorating the ceiling.<p>

"Welcome back," Elizabeth said, her face tired and smile heavy. "This is a beautiful place, Draco. Truly it is. I didn't get the opportunity to see it until now, but it's so homey."

"Thank-you. For everything."

She shrugged, "I wouldn't be here without you."

"So, what do we do now?"

Her eyes scanned the party and fell back to Draco. "We'll figure all of that out tomorrow. Let's celebrate tonight. Everyone's here for you." Elizabeth gestured to the array of guests waiting for a chance to congratulate and welcome Draco.

"Not everyone exactly," he muttered, his happy demeanour faltering. "Harry didn't stay."

"He's been here the past two days with the kids. Telling them about you, keeping Karina's spirits up. He's so good with her, Draco. I didn't know they'd gotten so close. I didn't know _you _had gotten so close to him." There was something aloof in her voice, the sign of secrecy.

"I think I should speak to him. Hermione!" he called over the raised voices of his company. Hearing his plea, she shifted through the tight spacing and pulled the man in for his thousandth hug for the evening. "Hermione, what's Harry's address?"

Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, she blurted the street and number readily. "What did you need it for? Going to send him a letter?"

"I'm going to kick his teeth in for leaving so abruptly."

"But, he has such lovely teeth, Draco. Do take care of them, will you?" She winked and disappeared towards the sound of Luna's voice chastising George.

"I'll be back," he promised. _Hopefully_.

Pacing quickly to his office, Draco took a handful of floo powder and stepped into the flames.

He tumbled out onto the foreign floor of an oddly bare apartment and would have to scold Harry later for not taking the time to place some wards at the entrance.

_Anyone _could fall through at any time.

"Who the hell are—_Draco Malfoy?_" a strange voice roared in intimidation until confusion settled. The man seemed about Draco's height. His hair was a yellower blond than his own. "What are you doing here?"

_Oh piss._

"Does Harry Potter live at this flat?"

The man placed a filled box on the floor and wiped his brow. "Yeah. He lives here. He'll be back in a bit. Went to get some drinks."

"Are you moving in?" Draco wondered aloud, his stomach tying in knots.

"He told you? Yeah. Kind of sudden, but I guess I'm ready for a change." The man placed a photo behind Draco's head on the mantle and gleamed at the memory. "Feels more like home already."

_Gone for a week and he's already got a bloke moving in with him? Not even all that good looking_.

He felt sick. Violently angry. Bereft.

A door clicked in another room and smacked against a wall. "Sam, I'm back. I just grabbed the largest bottle they—" he may very well have frozen harder than Draco "—had."

The brown paper bag fell from his grasp and exploded onto the floor in a puddle.

"I'm gonna head out for a bit. Nice meeting you, Draco." The same click could be heard locking the door and Draco did nothing but blink and clutch his fists to his sides.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Oh, so it's Draco in bed and court, but it's Malfoy everywhere else?" he countered, mentally berating himself for losing his cool so rapidly. And if he already embarrassed himself, why not continue? "What the bloody hell are you doing? You—you come back, get me to change my sexual preference, get me to confess to my monstrous past, fuck me, leave me, then come back for _my_ court hearing just so you can leave again and move in with the next blond you find?"

"Malfoy—I …"

"No! You're going to shut the fuck up for a moment. It's my turn to talk—and I don't want to hear about how you don't care, and you don't feel like you can love anyone, and you're not worthy enough to be loved, and your some cursed hero, okay? Fuck you!" he fumed, dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling on the strands in aggravation.

"If you'll wait, Malfoy—"

With an unintelligible bark, Draco could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he shot forward towards Harry. A meter of space separated the two and the blond was just close enough to choke the bastard if he decided to. "Don't you know what 'shut the fuck up' means? It means to shut. The. Fuck. Up. And listen! You have to care, or you wouldn't have come back. I know you've never stopped caring. I know you were scared for me. I know that you took care of me when I didn't want you to. I know you're being a complete prick by having this stranger move in with you! I know—"

His mouth was covered by Harry's right hand, while his left cradled the back of his head. "_Draco_," he pleaded, releasing the blond. "He's not moving in with me. I'm moving out and he's buying this place from me."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm moving back to the Burrow," he said matter-of-factly, stuffing his hands into the dress pants he still wore.

Reduced to babbling and stuttered breaths, Draco succumbed to awkward gestures in response.

"Why?" he finally managed. His heart fluttered with hope before his trembling hand found itself clasped in an olive skin.

"Guess I never stopped caring."

* * *

><p>Elizabeth let Karina introduce her to every member of Second Chances. She was terribly certain she would never remember all of the names, but gladly embraced her daughter's leadership and hospitality.<p>

"And this is Felix, Mum!" The little girl pulled on the boy's shirt from behind and he turned slowly to smile widely at her and then follow Karina's gaze to her mother.

_It can't be…_

His face … it was like looking at an aged photograph of…

"Have we met?" Felix asked and held out his hand.

Her eyes welled with tears as she swatted the hand away and launched herself at the boy, clutching at his back and weeping into his shoulder.

"Matthew—oh, God! I can't believe it's you!"


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter Twenty-One_

Draco was blinking entirely too fast for Harry's comfort. And his heart seemed to have stopped beating, as he couldn't feel a pulse in the wrist he was holding ever so carefully.

The man looked to be coming undone before him and he felt the compulsive need to be as gentle as humanly possible with this fragile wizard.

Surely this hostile intrusion meant that the blond returned at least one iota of the feeling Harry was currently combating with. Didn't it?

That thought passed only a moment before a hand passed his cheek with a perceptible _crack _of skin.

"What the _fuck, Draco?_" Harry screeched- tossing the hand in his back to its owner without paying any mind to its originally delicate classification. The former Gryffindor touched his reddening cheek with a wince and hissed at the biting burn radiating from the abused flesh.

"Oh, come off it, you ruddy ponce. I hardly touched you." Draco stalked off towards the kitchen and snorted while rummaging through Harry's cupboards. "Do you keep tea in here at all? Some host," he scoffed.

The damaged hero gaped in disbelief. "Where do you get off? You know, a 'thanks for saving me again, Harry' would have fared much better than a slap to my face and an insult to my living arrangements."

"Do you have tea or not? I haven't had a decent cup in over a week."

Conceding to the arrogant twat monopolising his kitchen, Harry rolled his eyes and melted into the loveseat facing the fireplace. "Left of the refrigerator, third drawer down. Should be a few options."

"You want a cup?" Draco offered, sifting haphazardly through the contents of the bin. Harry honestly felt a stab of surprise in seeing the domestic side of the blond filling the teakettle and knowing how to light a burner without magic, in _his_ flat, with _his_ stove.

Shaking himself from the near claustrophobic clutches of reality, "Do I have any jasmine chamomile left?"

"It's like you aren't even British, but yes, you have some of that left. Is it any good?"

"Considering I normally ingest flavours a similar to bile, I should say not," Harry answered ironically.

Draco didn't respond and sounded as if he'd located the mugs on his own, if the thud of glass hitting countertop was any indication.

At the kettle's whistle, Harry rose and staggered clumsily towards the kitchen. Somehow, the sight created an odd sensation under the man's skin. Here was Draco, making the pair tea as though it was routine. Like the years of hostility, previous months and this afternoon were a part of some far away past unknown to the picturesque couple in Harry's home. The feeling was a combination of uneasiness, excitement, fear and a touch of wonder. The man hadn't invited anyone to the piss poor excuse of a flat since he'd moved in.

Not including Sam, of course.

And Draco fit here—hunched over the countertop with his head in his hand, stirring spoonful's of sugar Harry never directed him towards into his tea.

It was so simple …

_For now_.

"It's unnerving, you know. The way you're staring at me," Draco murmured without moving.

"Why are you here, Draco? Did Elizabeth talk to you?" _How could anything be worse than __second-hand __declarations of infatuation?_

Turning slightly to raise one confused brow in contempt, the blond still stirred the contents of his mug. "I spoke to Elizabeth. Spoke to quite a few people actually."

If Harry were a violent man, a truer than false assumption about the hero, he would have returned the backlash bestowed upon him. However, because he convinced himself otherwise, Harry swallowed his agitation and ignored the burn in his palm resulting from snatching his cuppa too quickly.

_Fuck, that's hot._

"Ever the absurdly perverse hero, eh, Potter? Put the cup down—there's no sense in burning yourself." The blond took the liberty of removing the mug from his hand and flipped the abused appendage palm-side up. Draco pulled his wand from his back pant pocket and cast a healing charm. His fingers trailed wispily over new skin while his blond brow furrowed in thought. "I talked to Elizabeth. She said you helped them the past few days. Kept Karina relatively entertained."

"And that's all?" he questioned quietly, mesmerised by the ivory fingers tickling his skin. "She didn't mention anything else?"

A pregnant pause followed. An upsetting and eerie bout of silence caused partially by the halting of Draco's ministrations and partially by the stilling of Harry's own heart in anticipation.

Without glancing upward, Draco continued the random pattern his hands were devising. "Should she have mentioned something else? She knows why you came back, doesn't she? You say you never stopped caring," he explained before Harry could refute it. "But, you care about Quidditch, and the kids at my centre. You cared about home and being with your own kind." Peaking beneath impossibly long and almost translucent lashes, Draco revealed a small yet hesitant smile. "What makes me different? What does she know that I don't?"

A surge of courage coursed through Harry's veins and he took one step forward, leaving only a breath of space between them. His eyes flickered back and forth from Draco's, searching for the same answers he'd been asked for.

_With any luck, we have the same answers_.

"Draco," he began seriously, wetting his lips in an attempt to buy himself a moment's time. "The reason I came back was because I couldn't let the first person I—"

"Back!" Sam called from the doorway of the next room. "Got another bottle of whatever you dropped on the way in." He stopped at the archway of the kitchen and tripped over his footing in what looked to be mortification. "And I can see I've interrupted. My apologies."

"Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to return, Sam," Draco bit through his teeth, an oddly endearing string of jealousy marring his otherwise pleasant suggestion.

Harry watched on bated breath as the man raised his hands in mock surrender and backed away from the pair. "I'll leave the liquor. Merlin knows you'll need it more than I do."

At the very instant—when the bolts of the door locked shut—Draco thrust himself away. "So, how'd you meet him?"

"A pub. When I got back, I got inordinately pissed and ended up shacking at his place." The glare in Draco's harsh gaze encouraged more detail. "Nothing happened. I passed out and he didn't take advantage of it. Got him to look into the flat and that's it. Completely platonic."

The blond still seemed sceptical, but he shrugged his response before returning to his cup and giving Harry a wonderfully disregarding view of his back.

Somehow, this cold exterior emboldened the Man Who Lived and allowed him the mental strength to step chest to back with Draco. The body ahead of him tensed briefly and settled into the loose embrace.

He was cornered now. Harry's arms created a barricade between himself and the counter, forcing Draco to acknowledge his confession.

Inhaling deeply to calm his raging insides, the brunet mentally chastised himself for becoming distracted in the vanilla scent at the nape of Draco's neck. "I agreed to work with you under one condition, didn't I?"

The former Slytherin turned abruptly in Harry's arms with an incredulously hard glower. "I haven't lied to you at all. You know everything."

He fought the urge to smile at this dishevelled man and kiss the tip of his reddening nose.

_I'll kill myself before I turn into a born-again Hufflepuff_.

"Do I?" Eyes as grey as storm cast down and leftward. "Why are you here?"

"I asked you first," Draco murmured with a childish whine.

"_My _honesty wasn't part of the deal, if I remember the terms correctly. _Yours, _on the other hand, is under debate."

A smirk grew on Draco's face, reminding Harry of the Slytherin he was dealing with. "The way _I _remember it, _O_ _Chosen One, _is that I made the decisions regarding what I would need to be honest about."

"A trade, then," Harry proposed. "My word for yours."

The blond pursed his lips in contemplation and nodded once as if to say, _you first._

"Look, I don't understand everything, but I _wanted _to be there for you. You didn't deserve to lose everything you worked for because of a something you had no control over."

There really was something to avoiding visual contact while trying to evade a particular subject. Made the act almost too simple.

"You're lying, Harry," Draco accused, tipping the man's face at the chin to search for whatever lie he'd heard. "Or you're not saying everything. That's just as bad, you know." His free hand splayed over Harry's chest and the brunet's arms fell from their grip at the counter's edge. "If that's all there is, I'll leave. You can go back to the Burrow. You can come back to work. Everything can return to normal for you. But, whatever this was will go back to a professional partnership. Nothing more."

Harry weighed his options considerably. Normal was what he'd been searching for after the war.

Wasn't it?

Wants could change. Needs could change. And Harry wanted…

"I love you, Draco," he said flatly. A mere statement of fact so certain of its validity that it could have and should be marked in history. "And I'm sorry for whatever pain that causes you in the future, but I do. I l-."

Suddenly, his mouth became too occupied to speak. Draco's lips attached themselves timidly to Harry's. The brush was inquisitive and light—momentarily stunning the hero into paralysis.

Finally, after the fear melted away, Harry responded and placed his hands gently against the small of Draco's back, pulling the man against him smoothly. The blond seemed to be bolder as his swiped a playful, wet strip over Harry's bottom lip and clamped teeth over the flesh just hard enough to pull and release it.

With one more set of strong pecks, Draco grappled for Harry's face and broke the kiss, chuckling at the Man Who Lived while he groaned in protest.

A nervous fluttering settled again in his stomach at the realisation of his vulnerability.

"I had a feeling that was the case," Draco replied to his earlier sentiments smugly. "The gallant hero coming to rescue the poor and down trodden source of his affections."

"Lovely save from calling yourself a 'damsel in distress.'"

Draco's hands found their way into Harry's mane and tugged none too sweetly. "I'm most certainly _not _a damsel and I was hardly distressed."

"You're a class act. The only person I know who can be entirely ungrateful for having his life saved, hear, '_I love you_,' and _still _be an arrogant prick about it."

Stepping backwards, Harry shook his head with a huff and paced towards his living room to fall back into the loveseat. Draco followed and towered over the former Gryffindor.

"I'm sorry, all right?" he groaned- examining imaginary dirt beneath his nails. "What am I supposed to say?"

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

"If the appropriate response doesn't immediately come to mind, it would benefit both of us to forget the entire conversation." Harry shielded his face in his elbow and released a stuttered breath.

The silence stretched into an immeasurable amount of time and the brunet peaked from beneath his arm to find Draco still hovering over him.

"Damn it, Draco! Say _something_!" _Anything_.

"Maybe,_" _he mumbled quickly— too quick for Harry's ears.

"Try again, but slow down. A speed just a tad slower than light and humans could potentially catch it."

Draco cleared his throat and began again. "I said, maybe I could possibly have feelings for you too."

An undignified snort rushed from Harry's nose, along with a hollow chuckle. "How romantic."

"Sorry I hadn't time to rehearse it, Potter."

"Go fuck yourself," the Chosen One suggested before rolling onto his side.

"Quit being so melodramatic. It's unbecoming." Harry didn't respond. Instead, he focused all of his energy on a tear in the couch. Otherwise, his magic may have spilled over—and he was trying to sell this flat after all. "Fine!" Draco bellowed. "I love you too, you limey twat."

* * *

><p>Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly and reopened them to assure herself that she was not dreaming.<p>

_Oh, please let this be real_ …

Matthew, or Felix—as he'd been named—gaped in bafflement.

"Excuse me? My name is Felix. I think you're mistaken."

She shook her head in disagreement. "I know I'm not mistaken. Your name was Matthew."

"You're the girl from the cell—the one I was trapped with. Draco Malfoy saved you, didn't he? You're her, then. You have to be. I knew I recognised your voice."

_We were_—_he was with me? That whole time _…_ that was my brother _…_ And I didn't _…

"That was you?" she replied calmly, as if accepting each new bit of information. "Felix," she tried, the name tasting foreign on her tongue. "That isn't your real name."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But, how would you know who I was?"

Even without his memory, Matthew was as polite as he had ever been before the war.

"You're my brother," she explained for his hearing only. "Come with me. I promise I can explain everything."

Seeming to humour the woman's wishes, the boy followed Elizabeth out of the party and into the gardens.

* * *

><p>"Did Elizabeth just leave?" George questioned towards Hermione and Luna. "And Draco too?"<p>

"Yes," they responded at the precise same moment.

"And this party is for them?"

"It sure is," Hermione agreed.

George snickered and took a long swig of his cider. "Glad we came. Cheers, everyone!"

The women laughed along with him. Hermione glanced downwards at her wrist for the time and finished her own beverage. "I should be getting back to Ron. He's probably fighting a cab driver in Time Square."

"That's happened already?" Luna asked, patting her belly in small circles.

"Twice," she confirmed cavalierly. "Only broke his jaw once, though. So far …"

* * *

><p>For the remainder of the evening, Elizabeth and Matthew walked in circles through the random assortment of flowers. She told him of their life before the war, about losing him and the death of their parents. She explained her doubt of his existence. And he accepted every apology without fail. He couldn't hate someone he had no conscious memory of.<p>

Needless to say, he was desperately lacking in the ability to comprehend this life he knew he must have had.

It hadn't occurred to him, though, that he would one day know his past. He assumed his life started over and it was always a bittersweet thought. On the one hand, he could be whomever he chose to be. On the other, he needed to forget everything he was.

Of course, that was easy enough considering his mind being wiped without his consent.

"That would make Karina my niece, wouldn't it?" Elizabeth nodded, staring at the boy with glassy eyes. "Are you upset, Elizabeth?"

"No, I just—I never thought I'd see you again," she reasoned, slipping her hand into his and squeezing tightly. "I know it will take time to convince you, but I know you're my Matthew."

Matthew shrugged and allowed her hand to stay in its place. "I believe you. How can I argue?"

"You're so calm."

"I don't know how to react. I never thought _this _would be what I was forced to forget. I figured I'd have a very basic family waiting for me out there—completely separate from the war."

Looking dejected, Elizabeth breathed a small sigh. "Are you disappointed?"

"Not at all. I'm processing."

_And mentally reminding myself not to __lose__ it_.

At his feet stood colour-changing daisies. The boy marvelled at the complexity of the magic to someone of his magical standing. He hadn't used magic since he was captured. Matthew didn't want to be wrapped in that sort of life again. He was born from Muggles and could possibly convert back to a Muggle life when he was old enough to begin on his own.

With a sister, who was apparently still practising and a niece never living without other worldly experience, Matthew hardly thought a normal life was plausible.

_At least I'm not alone _…

"Can I meet them?"

"Who?"

The hand in his own slipped away and wrapped around its owner to shield her from the cold. "Our family."

Elizabeth smiled warmly and nodded once, her vision flittering towards the flowers beneath them as a flush of happiness crept over her cheeks.

"Of course you can. They've missed you terribly. _I've_ missed you."

_This is what it feels like_.

_To have a home_.

* * *

><p>"Ronald, I'm back!" Hermione called from the doorway, manually locking the hotel's creaking bit of wood with an audible bump.<p>

_Never again_,she thought irately in reference to Molly's vacation 'expertise'.

"How'd the trial go?" her husband echoed from what sounded distantly like the television area.

"Fine," she assured, leaning over the couch to place a small kiss into his hair before pacing around to cuddle in beside him. "Draco's fine. The centre is still intact. He'll be working for the Ministry, actually. Part of his sentence, but I think it'll suit him. That whole snarky, higher-than-thou attitude will do well for him there."

Ron grunted his response and pressed a button on the remote, becoming aggravated when the sound disappeared. The witch rolled her eyes in amusement and picked the Muggle control from his grasp to undo the mute option.

"Dad just wants a report on Muggle equipment when we return. It's disgusting how he uses our 'honeymoon' for his studies. He'd rather live vicariously through us than try any of this out on his own."

The man was livid since day one.

He left London with a Malfoy in his future bedroom. Naked.

The plane was delayed an hour.

Seven hours were spent in the company of the harmonic melodies of an infant's piercing cry.

His ears never quite popped comfortably.

The Muggle film was some horrid tale about nine fellows trying to destroy a ring by walking into a volcano.

And _finally _after they touched ground, Ron nearly lost use of his left arm getting into a scrabble with the cabbie. Apparently you were supposed to tip the drivers, and it wasn't stealing or mugging in the stranger's opinion.

One Obliviate settled that dispute in a timely fashion.

Their hotel room was smaller than the pictures advertised. Molly arranged for the couple to see a few Broadway productions whilst they were away. One being Wicked—a show both witch and wizard found entirely inaccurate.

The Wizard wasn't even magical! He was a clever car dealer—if anything.

New York was dreadfully busy. It seemed as if _everyone _had somewhere to be, and they needed to be there this very instant.

At least the room was quiet enough.

Hermione may have pictured her wedding, but she never imagined the honeymoon.

_Still wouldn't have pictured it like this._

"So, what are our plans for the evening?" she prodded with false eagerness. In all honesty, she wouldn't have minded cutting the vacation short. Or not having it at all.

Ron shrugged and threw his arm around the witch's shoulders. "We could always go to dinner. There's this breakfast place called Norma's, which is supposed to be amazing."

"Breakfast for dinner?"

"They call it brinner. But, we could see another show. The _Lion King's_ out. It's about this lion who can talk and there's a monkey, I think." Reaching for the coffee table, the wizard snatched a pamphlet and scanned its contents. "At least that's what the flier's say."

Hermione truly believed her husband forgot her background. She was Muggle born. Of course she'd heard of the _Lion King_—knew the music even.

"Or," he continued, running a finger lazily up and down the length of her arm, "we could order room service and stay in tonight."

"Sounds incredibly dull, Mister Weasley," she teased and touched her lips to his chin playfully.

Bowing his head forward, Ron captured her lips chastely and stared seriously into her blackening depths. "I'm sure I could _come up_ with something, Missus Weasley."

Blatantly ignoring the innuendo, Hermione cringed at the new name and visibly shook with disgust. "Please don't call me that. It reminds me of your mother."

"Please don't bring my mum into foreplay, Hermione. We'll have to go see the _Lion King _if I think on it any more than I already have." The witch smiled stood away from Ron, offering her hand to the man and hoisting him upwards before winding her fingers into his hair and dragging his face forward.

"I'll make you a deal," she mumbled as her lips touched his with each new syllable. "You never call me Missus Weasley again and I take you up on that staying in idea."

Ron leaned forward, looking rejected as Hermione teasingly detached herself and paced backwards towards the hotel's 'bedroom'.

With a few touch-up spells, the room was almost acceptable.

At the very least, it was cleaner.

Gracefully, Hermione maneuvered onto the cushion of the duvet and smiled seductively over her shoulder. Her husband gaped in return and she had to refrain from laughing.

Each time they slept together, Ron still seemed floored by the idea.

Of course, he would tell her later that he couldn't believe his luck- being with the brightest and most beautiful witch he'd ever imagined.

Hermione fell into the pillows and Ron followed, climbing—much less poised than his wife—to straddle the woman and create a cage atop of her.

The sky darkened to a purplish hue from the looks of the floor to ceiling window and traffic could be heard from miles.

Strangely enough, Hermione could only make out the steady pace of her own heart in her ears. Ron's hair fell over his eyes as his face dangled delicately over hers. She craned her neck upwards to capture his smirking mouth, but in payback for the earlier tantalising, he pulled away slightly to Hermione's efforts.

"If I didn't know any better," Ron murmured, pressing his lips to Hermione's jaw line, "I'd say you were a cat once."

The witch laughed lightly and threaded her fingers through his hair only to yank the man to eye-level. Producing the smallest of purrs, Hermione flipped the pair's position and trapped her wizard's hands above his head.

"You haven't seen anything yet," she promised. Every ounce of feline prowess seeming to caress each fibre of Ron's makeup.

Before he could rightly respond, Hermione dove towards her husband's mouth and took great advantage of his momentary shock to explore his mouth in earnest. Her tongue traced the roof of his mouth and the smoothness of his teeth and finished their exploration with a long and audible sucking of his tongue into her own mouth.

The man moaned softly beneath her and arched gently—the friction creating a much headier sound from both above and below. Releasing Ron's hands, Hermione felt through her clothes for her wand.

If she truly were a blushing virgin, perhaps she'd want the time physical clothing removal allotted. But, this wasn't a typical white wedding, and her husband was insatiable since they'd first come together following Hogwarts.

So, she vanished their clothing and Ron laughed deeply in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest and into Hermione's.

Easily, she formed her body around his. They'd always fit so effortlessly. Always one-step behind the other—always alternating whom was in the lead and more than often side-by-side.

Ron rolled the pair onto their sides and the witch felt calloused fingers tickling the small of her back and lower still, causing an undignified squeak to escape her lips before biting her attacker in warning. This only served to urge him on further and press their lower halves closer still. His free hand snuck between them scratched teasingly at the sensitive skin below her navel. Hermione crooned in response, forcing his hand to apply more pressure.

The witch was hardly looking for something slow tonight.

Lying completely on her back, Ron smiled predatorily and began biting at Hermione's neck, the gesture providing an incredible distraction from the unexpected fullness she was suddenly experiencing.

"A little warning, you prat!" she complained half-heartedly, adjusting herself to accommodate for the intrusion.

Ron didn't rebut, he simply created a steady rhythm and groaned long and low. Hermione threw her head back and clawed deeply into his back for leverage.

His skin was slick with sweat and hers produced a glossy sheen over her heated body.

_So _… _close _…

Without realising her eyes were screwed shut tightly, she opened them to find Ron's face a mere breath away. As the last of her will crumbled, she latched her mouth to his and drown the earth-shattering shout brought on by ecstasy.

Exchanging her noises for his, Ron finished with the same intensity, breathing heavily and falling none too gently atop of his wife.

Still connected, Hermione wrestled with the tangled sheets and blankets to cover the couple and ran her trembling fingers through Ron's dampened hair as he snuggled into her neck.

"I missed you," Ron whispered into the hollow of Hermione's throat. "Is that stupid?"

The witch bit the side of her cheek and smiled into his hair with a kiss. "Not at all."

* * *

><p><em>And this is where I<em>—_Draco Malfoy_—_died of mortification._

Normally, he would hex anyone with the gall to say that time stood still.

It literally stopped and never again would he ridicule the statement.

Instead of reacting excitedly and extremely off-balanced, Harry calmly sat straight and looked doubtfully at the man in front of him.

"I'm not lying, Harry. I'd have nothing to gain from it and you can give me some Versatrium later if that remedies the situation."

"Why?"

_Oh, for pity's sake _…Draco shook his head in disbelief, drastically wishing this man would regain some of that arrogant confidence he never seemed to shake.

"I didn't construct a fucking list, Potter. I just do." Crossing his arms to assert his pride, the blond stared incredulous daggers into Harry's eyes. "You really don't believe you're worth it."

Harry didn't answer, finding his hands more stimulating than the current conversation.

"What do we do now?" he finally said- quiet enough to be mistaken for a thought.

Draco extended his arm to Harry and he looked at it like it was some inconceivable alien encounter. "This is where you take my hand and we head for the bedroom."

"Draco, I don't think having sex is the best—"

"No," the former Slytherin interrupted, "I don't want to sleep with you." Noticing his offense, he immediately rephrased. "Right now, Potter. I don't want to have sex with you right now. I just want to lay with you. Talk about pointless things and have you whisper sweet nothings into my ear until I fall asleep."

A half smile formed on the corner of Harry's lips and he took the offered hand. "I don't think I'll be any good at it."

"The curse of being Harry Potter. You're good at everything. But, I'll warn you, if I wake up in the morning and you're not there, I'll rip your bollocks off with my bare hands. No pun intended—they'll be gone."

The former Gryffindor still wore his smirk casually and kissed the threatening blond's cheek.

"A fair deal, really."


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter Twenty-two_

Harry awoke slowly to a familiar room and not so familiar weight on his chest. His eyes still felt too heavy to hold open against the early morning light, but he fought the urge to close them in opt to study the man currently _purring_ atop his chest.

_Purring __…__ isn't that more of a lion's trade?_

The conscious man stifled a chuckle to keep the vibration from waking Draco as he mentally held a fit over the irony of his ability to hiss and the blond's ability to purr.

_Never_ would he have imagined Draco being the kind of man to cuddle whilst sleeping, and in the moment following the thought, the former Slytherin tightened his hold around Harry's torso.

Snuggling deeper into his chest, Draco sighed contentedly and resumed his sleep sounds. Harry felt his fingers move on their own accord across the man's back in random patterns before raking through his hair—the gesture caused a new sound to pass through the air. Something akin to a satisfied, muffled hum. So, Harry persisted in petting, enjoying the quiet lull of the blond's breathing.

Glancing downwards, he was able to observe Draco's features up close and without fear of being exposed. His skin seemed to carry a light sheen in the morning, and his hair stuck not only to his face, but tangled amongst itself. Beneath his eyes sat deep, purple pools- more than likely from countless days of unrest. His nose stuck upwards just a tinge higher than his own nose and it was pointed sharply, much like the other features of his face- his cheeks in particular. Then, Draco's mouth, which even in sleep held a smirk. Harry rolled his eyes at the fact and removed his hands to watch the smirk fall to a pout.

_He doesn't even have to be awake to get me in the palms of his hands._

Next on Harry's list of exploration was just that: Draco's hands. One splayed haphazardly across his middle and the other rested beneath his back. Taking the easier of the two in the hand not drawing random patterns to his back, Harry mesmerised at the long digits and idly wondered if the blond could play piano with such a long range. The skin was just as pale as the skin of his face and nearly every vein could be seen protruding from the translucent cover. Draco's nails were far too clean for a man who'd spent the last week imprisoned. They weren't smooth, though, as Harry imagined a man of his stature would be. They had the smallest layer of callous built atop of the knuckles and fingertips.

The brunet felt curious. Draco was still under the shield of secrecy—much of him—and the idea of a lifetime to sort out all the details both excited and frightened Harry to within an inch of sanity.

To think that this could be a regular occurrence left Harry dumbfounded and awestruck.

Moving down Draco's arm, Harry paused at his steadily fading mark, noting every healing scar that decorated the snake. These weren't Voldemort's marks. In fact, they looked to be self-inflicted. Perhaps the blond had tried to remove the tattoo from his skin with either magic or some sort of blade.

Raising the battered flesh to his mouth, the Chosen One pressed a breath of a kiss to his former nemesis' arm and smiled softly when it led to the return of Draco's smirk and purr.

Harry felt a terrifying gentleness settle in his stomach at the sight. What would people think of this development?

_And when did I decide to give a piss about what others would say?_

So, he went back to concentrating solely on the goose-bumps rising over Draco's skin at his light touch and pulled the coverlet over his bare shoulders to shield the man from the chill in the room. Of course Draco insisted on sleeping in nothing but his pants and Harry could hardly argue with the brief glimpse of perfection Draco'd grown to be.

The need to use the rest room was over powering and as much as he would have liked to bask in the innocently vulnerable Draco Malfoy, he needed to dislodge himself before he awoke the man to a not-so-pleasant warmth.

Slowly and carefully, he removed his arm from beneath the man's head, cradling it to the pillow beneath him. Draco snorted in discontent at Harry's disappearance, but soon settled as the Man Who Lived tucked him into the warmth still trapped beneath the covers.

Taking one last glance at the peaceful man resting in his bed, Harry smiled cautiously to himself and paced towards the bathroom with a lighter than air feeling.

* * *

><p>"Mummy," Karina prodded effortlessly, "Does that mean Felix is my uncle?"<p>

The woman shook her head and continued packing her toiletries. "Yes, Sweetheart, but his name isn't Felix. It's Matthew."

"Why is it Matthew and not Felix? Daddy told me his name was Felix."

"Daddy was mistaken," Elizabeth stressed again before zipping the last of her items.

The girl huffed in annoyance at the challenge. "Whatever. Do I get to go with you to see Grammy?"

"We need to check with your father."

_After he returns from Harry's__…_

"That won't be necessary and would more than likely keep you waiting," Narcissa chimed from the doorway. "I already have a Portkey ready for you to return home. My permission is really what counts anyway."

Elizabeth's mouth pulled up at the corners and she contemplated hugging the normally icy woman, but luckily needn't decide as the grandmother of her child walked swiftly to her side and wrapped her in a none-too-gentle embrace.

"I'm so happy you've found your brother and you're alive for your family, Dear. I can't imagine what they've gone through thinking you were no longer with us." The sentiment was whispered and brought an unexpected tear to Elizabeth's eye. She clutched with a force unknown and nearly felt a jolt of emotion spring forward through her hands to hold tighter.

"Thank-you, Narcissa. For everything," she replied just as quietly- just as sincerely. "Karina, go pack an overnight bag, we're going to see Grandma."

An arm snaked its way around her knees and Narcissa's as well. "She'll make me grilled cheese and red soup, right?" the girl muttered into their legs. "You don't cook, Grandma. You should try."

"If I've never cooked before, Karina, how do you know I'd be any good at it?" the older woman contested.

Karina shrugged and stood back on her heels. "All grandmas are good at cooking. You're just lazy!"

* * *

><p>Matthew sat at the foot of his bed, refusing to sleep at the Manor along with Elizabeth. He'd gotten comfortable here. He could sleep in this bed—and for years, he couldn't sleep at all. He was quickly overcoming his past and moving onto the future.<p>

Not without help, though.

_Second Chances _was the fourth foster home he'd been moved to. The other homes provided what he needed as far as physical need was concerned. But, the boy needed more than that—even if he hadn't known it at the time. Perhaps Harry hadn't been in the same situations as he, but the man had been running since he was an infant, since before he could truly understand what he was running from or that he was running at all. Matthew had come so far since he opened himself to the Man Who Lived.

And Draco, well, without him, he wouldn't have gotten to Harry. He wouldn't have seen with his own eyes what a person would go through to save another life. He watched Draco, the rescuer. He met Draco, the philanthropist. He studied Draco, the father and son.

And all of that made it difficult to hate Draco, the man who saved his sister and not himself as well.

Made it impossible, really.

Matthew could live his entire life in resentment and turmoil. It was better, though, to heal. It was better to use that wasted hate on something worth living for.

"Matthew, are you ready?"

He nodded once and fished beneath his bed for a small suitcase.

"Do you think we'll be staying long?" Matthew wondered.

His sister pursed her lips in thought and took the case from his hands. "We can stay as long as you like."

"And if I decide to stay here?"

It wasn't as if he had made the decision to stay, but he wanted to be absolutely certain that he had a say in the matter. This needed to be his choice.

"You're welcome to stay anywhere you'd like. I won't keep you, but I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to stay," she ended with a small grin marred slightly with expected sadness.

Matthew felt a tight pull at his chest. Maybe family stretched beyond memory. Even his body didn't want to hurt this woman, it physically ached at the thought of offending Elizabeth to sadness. So, tenderly, he gripped her unused hand in his and offered a shy smile.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>Draco squinted against the mid-morning sun and altered his position from the ball he'd been wrapped in. Somehow, throughout the course of the evening, he must have tangled himself within the blankets. Harry's flat was much cooler than the Manor's excessive heat.<p>

Speaking of the Boy Who Lived, Draco's eyes were still adjusting, but he doubted very strongly that the sun could make a person disappear. He also doubted that the stiffness in his joints could have numbed him from feeling another body next to him. The blond sat upright and threw his legs over the edge of Harry's bed and touched the side he hadn't slept on.

It was cold. And the chill made his blood boil.

_Fucking hell._

Draco wanted to scream or hit something hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. _Anything_to dull his senses long enough to forget the blinding rage coursing through his system. Instead, he grabbed the wand from Harry's bedside table and transformed a pillow into a large glass plate. He stood and looked for a blank space on the wall. The search didn't last very long since Harry's apartment appeared as if it had never been lived in.

Shouting a gust of air from his chest, Draco heaved the plate as forcefully as he could. With a deafening crash, the former Slytherin watched each individual piece fall towards the floor and scatter themselves accordingly. Momentarily, Draco felt a stab of guilt. His throw had left a minor scratch in the wall and Harry was trying to sell this place.

_His flat can eat shit and die._

"Damn-it," he muttered to himself and shut his eyes tightly, biting his lip as a distraction before he burned the apartment to the ground. This was a Muggle environment and they didn't deserve to die because of the piece of shit that was the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Suddenly, the hinges to the front door screeched and the heavy door shut loudly against its frame before a lock clicked into place.

Harry rounded the corner of the entryway and glanced at a livid Draco who was breathing heavily and shaking. Noticing his state, the blond clamped his fists together tightly to cease the shaking and stood as straight as an arrow to force his knee to end its tapping.

In the man's arms looked to be some sort of coffee concoction and something smelling of syrup.

"Morning, Draco," Harry said innocently, throwing his keys to the kitchen counter and tossing the food in a similar direction. Smoothly, he paced towards his bedroom with a bemused touch to his features. "Is everything alright?" he wondered aloud before taking in the sight of thick, broken glass shards across the bedroom floor. "An accident?"

"This was definitely intentional, Potter," Draco hissed through clenched teeth. He willed his voice to maintain its usual cold demeanour, but his emotion far more persistent than he was in control. "You'll need to purchase a new pillow as well."

"If you'd like, I'd be more than happy to hear what the fuck is the matter with you," Harry remarked listlessly. His lack of irrational action made Draco even angrier. If he wasn't so certain of Harry's wandless skill, he would have cursed the man six ways from Sunday. If he hadn't hit the prick yesterday, he would have considered pummelling him now. But, humility stilled his hand from either choice. "I haven't said a word to you until this very moment, so I haven't the slightest as to what I could have possibly done wrong."

_The nerve of that self-righteous __… _"You've done nothing wrong," he shrugged, feigning indifference poorly. "Perfect Saint Potter. Wakes up every morning with rainbows flying out of his arsehole. Walks on water. Houses former Death Eaters out of the goodness of his heart. He can't break a promise because he's _fucking infallible._"

Draco brushed past him harshly, making sure to collide painfully with his shoulder. The blond hadn't watched much Muggle programming in his life, however, he vaguely remembered steam pouring out of a cartoon's ears and imagined he looked something akin to that memory. Harry grabbed at his arm and twisted him around roughly. The man had daggers in his eyes, hidden behind genuine confusion.

"You honestly don't know," Draco breathed, his face scrunching in lacklustre perplexity. Harry shook his head, his eyes softening and glancing away. "I woke up without you there again, Harry."

"Oh." He finally understood. Harry released his hold and rubbed at the stubble collecting on his cheek. His look became thoughtful then. For a moment, he seemed almost to be contemplating laughter. "Did you know you smirk in your sleep?"

"I most certainly do not!"

"I never said it was a bad thing, I was just telling you. And you most certainly do. You purr, too. Like a little kitten." Harry made a small gesture with his hands to imitate the size of the animal. Draco scoffed at the audacity and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "I woke up a few hours ago and I just watched you sleep."

One nearly invisible eyebrow rose in question. "Whatever would you do that for?"

"Because I could," he answered plainly. "Because I had the opportunity to look at almost everything I wanted to without you barking at me."

Draco fell into silence. Was he really so cold as to begrudge Harry of his strange ogling fetish?

"I know you hate it," Harry said. "You've spent your whole life in front of a camera being scrutinised. But, here's the deal with how this is going to work. I've never told anyone I was in love with them. Not even Ginny. So, this is just as new and scary for me as it is for you. I'm going to fuck up quite a bit and you're going to be an annoying prat most of the time. I'll forget that you prefer the right side of the bed and you'll nag me about it out of a dead sleep because you can. I'll burn breakfast and you'll insist on letting the elves do their job. You'll try to be nice for a change and I'll take it the wrong way. We'll fight and have great make-up sex because I have a feeling we'll solve all of our problems that way. One of us will eventually want to get married and the other won't be ready. But, we'll do this because I want you. And I think it's that forever kind of want because I love you and—" Draco shut his rambling with the palm of his hand and Harry's still moving lips finally stilled.

The blond could feel the funny smile pulling at his lips. "Do you ever stop talking, Potter?"

"If I have something better to do, sometimes I'll quiet down," he readily quipped when his voice could be heard again.

Feeling unusually bold, Draco didn't wait for reason to catch up to him as he discarded the final article of clothing separating him from nudeness.

Harry's eyes widened as he watched the blond step from his pants. Unconsciously, he licked at his chapped lips while his pupils dilated to near blackness.

"What are you doing?"

"You said you were only able to look at _almost _everything you wanted." Turning in a slow circle and casting a glance over his shoulder before rounding back completely, Draco smirked all knowingly. "Just giving you a full view."

"Some people have no shame," Harry mused before hastily collecting the unclothed man in his arms and tossing him back onto the bed.

"I'm not a doll, Potter," Draco challenged defiantly.

"Says the man completely starkers."

Fumbling for his wand again, Draco whispered an _Evanesco_at Harry—the sudden recognition of his condition causing him to hide his most private of areas.

"Awe, is the brave Harry Potter embarrassed? All's fair in love and sex, Chosen One."

"I'm pretty sure the Muggle expression uses the term war, Draco. Not sex."

And again, that devilish smirk plastered itself to Draco's mouth and was accompanied by a come-hither arch to his brow. "Aren't they the same thing in this case?"

* * *

><p>Standing outside of a pastel yellow townhouse on a cobblestone street of Canterbury, Matthew heard more than felt the beating of his heart pounding at a deafening volume in his ears.<p>

_What if they don't remember me?_

Disappointment could destroy him. It was as if five years of restarting a life he knew nothing of was tumbling down in this moment of panic and self-consciousness. Matthew hadn't a choice in forgetting this family. If they decided to dismiss him from reality, that was an option made with reason.

"Don't worry, Fel—_Matthew,_" Karina beamed upwards at the boy currently involved with a war being fought inside his own mind. "Grandma's really nice. And she always smells like cookies and tea."

"You think she'll like me?"

"She's a grandma, she likes everyone," the girl answered obviously. A note of her father's arrogance stuck in her voice and her tongue clicked in annoyance. "You're being silly."

_And you're being a brat._

"Quit being snobby, Karina. You know better than that," Elizabeth chided unconvincingly. The woman seemed almost as nervous as the boy on her left did. She took his hand in hers and squeezed with a bit more force than necessary. "Ready?"

Afraid of possibly vomiting from anxiety, Matthew nodded and followed the witch's fist as it knocked lightly on the front door.

A pregnant pause formed and the wizard nearly choked on the thickness of tension in the air. Fortunately, the locks of the door were undone and a small woman stood at the entrance of the frame. With large round eyes and a thin smile outlined by wrinkles and age, she gaped at the sight of her visitors.

"Lizzy?" she uttered as a breath. "Lizzy, you're—oh, my word …" Her gaze slid cautiously over Matthew and he blushed furiously at the appraisal. Reaching outwards, she touched his face and gasped, a tear forming and rolling down her cheek. "Oh, you look so much like your father, Matt. But, how?"

Bursting into tears, the woman took both brother and sister in her arms and held them whilst she shook in sobs.

"Gran? Why are you crying? I'm hungry," Karina complained behind them, unknowing towards the gravity of the situation at hand.

With the sounding of that little voice, their grandmother broke between the siblings to her great granddaughter with a watery smile. "Karina! You're so big, Love! Come in, please. And someone, for the sake of sanity, tell me what's happened?"

Elizabeth did much of the explaining and spared her grandmother the sordid details. Matthew observed the woman and her honest concern and intrigue pertaining to the subject. Not once did she relinquish hold of his hand, and he hardly kept count of the number of kisses he'd received.

Strangely, he felt safe under this 'stranger's' touch. It wasn't as foreign as it should have been.

Her name was Madison. She knew of magic and magical people, however, the subject never settled at a level she could fully understand. And with a grandson and granddaughter capable of practicing, they were her only windows to the world.

"Matty, I have photo albums filled with pictures of you growing up. Would you like to see them?"

His mind cautioned him from the immediate and most expect response. What would it be like to see yourself in a life you couldn't remember? Could it do more harm than good? Then again, the past is a permanent fixture in time and whether or not he viewed the memories or not, they would exist.

And there was always the slim and impossible chance that his mind would remember something connecting him to the Matthew he seemed to be.

So, before his conscience could convince him otherwise, the boy nodded fervently and watched his grandmother quickly exit with a supreme air of happiness.

"You're sure you want to see them?" _It's like she can read my thoughts._"She won't be offended if you change your mind. Maybe this will all be too much for one day."

"I think I can take it. Where did Karina run off to?"

As if on cue, the girl skipped into view with a chocolate chip cookie in one hand and a tall glass of chocolate milk in the other. "Mum, can I floo call Daddy?" she muttered around a full mouth.

"I don't know if Grandma has the floo still up, Sweetheart. And I'm not sure if Daddy's home from Mister Potter's yet."

Karina shrugged and scampered back towards the direction she hailed from.

"So, it's true. Draco's with Harry? I figured as much, but Harry's got the most ambiguous way of telling someone something." Not receiving any sort of response, Matthew continued. "Does it bother you? That they're together, I mean."

"Not particularly, no. I worry more for Karina. Draco and I were never in love. He hasn't the slightest desire to be with me romantically—or I with him. I know he would, though. If it were for his daughter's good. She likes Harry. And he loves her, I can tell. He loves Draco, too. I just want for us to both be in her life at all times now that we can be." Elizabeth bit ferociously at her bottom lip and feigned interest in her nails to avoid eye contact.

"And you will be. You're brave and intelligent. You'll figure it out. It's a family full of heroes for God's sake."

The witch laughed with a small snort colouring its sound. "I hope you'll be around for her, too."

"I'd like to be," he said with every bit of conviction. "I want to know this family. _My_family. I think she already likes me." In reference to Madison, of course.

"She's loved you since the moment Mum found out about you."

With a rush of emotion, Matthew felt compelled to ask, "Tell me about her."

"Mum?"

"And Dad, too."

Thoughtfully, Elizabeth looked upwards and to the right while organising her choice of words. "She was an engineer—like I said. She designed airplanes. Dad taught English at Cambridge. Mum used to bake the greatest cheesecake with homemade raspberry sauce. Dad wasn't much of a cook, but he could juggle anything—excluding us. He never risked juggling kids." Her voice became soft, but she laughed nonetheless.

"Talking about the time Matty convinced your father to juggle your lizards?" Madison mused in welcomed interruption. "It was your sixth birthday party and you loved lizards. I think you had twenty by the time you were ten. Anyway, John refused to juggle anything living, but you would _not_stop crying. You wouldn't open any of your gifts or let anyone eat the cake your mother slaved over until he juggled those damned lizards." Shaking her head with a wry smile, the woman resumed sitting next to her grandson and took his hand. "So, he takes three of them and begins to toss them into the air. You loved the most exotic kind and one actually had these sticky feet and stuck to my ceiling for hours! I could have beaten your father red for that. Lucky for me, your sister learned a pretty strong spell to clean the stain once she started Hogwarts."

"Would you want to go to Hogwarts, Matthew?" Elizabeth wondered. "I'm sure you'd catch on quickly. We could get you a wand and your own owl."

She sounded so hopeful. It almost hurt to consider the alternative.

Seeming to see the inner debate, Madison gripped tighter. "Or, you could stay here. You're more than welcome to live a—what do you call it? A Muggle life?"

Coming at the most opportune moment, a vociferous _crash_was heard echoing a room or two away.

"Karina!"

* * *

><p>Harry gazed openly at the man in front of him with fresh, hungry eyes. <em>This<em>was the confidence missing from their first time. _This_was what the Man Who Lived expected in an encounter with the ever-haughty Draco Malfoy. He expected—no _needed_this fire. This challenge. He didn't want a pliant lover, well, not at _first_.

Inching backwards over the bed, Draco smirked with one eyebrow raised in silent question. The barriers were finally down, and however great his desire currently was in fucking this young philanthropist into the mattress, Harry had other ideas forming.

Scanning his bedroom, his eyes fell to the tie he'd been wearing during the trial and he cast an _Accio_to retrieve it.

"Let me blindfold you," Harry commanded easily. The blond's confidence faltered only a fraction before he could explain. "I want to explore, and I don't want you anticipating where I'm going."

"Blindfold kink, Potter?" A small hitch Harry wished he hadn't heard broke Draco's voice. Still, though, the man was trying to maintain his usual coldness and cavalier attitude.

And for that, the former Gryffindor still held hope.

"No need for the snark; and if you're scared, we can talk more about our feelings and cuddle." _Not that that isn't where I plan on going anyway._

"_Fuck. _Give it here," he demanded with an outreached hand impatiently snapping for the silk fabric. Harry complied and watched in awed admiration as Draco tied the tie around his own eyes twice to keep from seeing. "Good enough? Want to tie me to the headboard?"

Harry snickered to himself and both hearing and seeing the hesitation trickling over the blond's body and voice. "We'll save that for another time. Might even let you tie _me_ up if you behave yourself."

"_Let_?" Draco caught with a sardonic laugh. "I'll have you know I could have you in all sorts of compromising positions whenever I please. And who are you to tell me to behave myself, you barbaric oaf!"

Having enough of the incessant chatter, Harry cast a _Silencio_at the prattling blond_._Oddly enough, the man didn't lash out at the realisation. "Talk is cheap, Malfoy. You'll have to prove it when I'm done." Harry thought to add the last bit after realising the blinded man would look to prove himself at the absolute first possible opportunity.

He could clearly see the words forming on Draco's lips. And unless he was mistaken, they were all curses and foul language far too plebeian to be falling from a Malfoy's lips.

"Lay back, Draco," Harry cooed, waiting for the silent struggle. Instead, Draco could be seen pursing his lips and releasing a heavy gust of air before feeling for a comfortable position. For a brief period, the raven-haired man wanted to grumble over the obvious submission of his lover. Raking his eyes over the rapidly rising and falling chest, flushed—normally alabaster—skin, and stirring member, Harry recognised this state of arousal causing the blond not to obey without fight, but follow all too willingly.

Painstakingly slow, Harry crawled atop of the barely quivering man, careful not to touch him just yet and make good on his promise to observe. Unconsciously, Draco let his tongue drag out to wet his lips and Harry followed the journey from beginning to end, finding that very exceptional mouth to be a wonderful place to start.

The first press was light enough to be mistaken for a dream and the blond craned his neck upwards while Harry moved backwards. Teasingly, he touched their lips together again and could almost hear the whine of aggravation as he just barely pulled back.

"Can't very well explore if you're distracting me, _Draco._" Hissing his given name caused the former Slytherin to still immediately. His intake of breath was harsh and sudden- and Harry found he rather liked this Draco coming closer to the edge of undoing.

He kissed him, then. Thoroughly, Harry plundered the moist caverns of Draco's mouth, always aware of the blond's upper hand and more than in control of his own libido.

_Fuck._

Well, almost in control. If it weren't for that ruddy ponce gyrating in little, perfectly timed pulses.

_He'll regret it later._

* * *

><p><em>Seems I'm not the only helpless one here.<em>

Draco arched his lower regions again to buck lightly against Harry, a bit irritated when the man anticipated the act and moved just far enough to avoid contact.

"What'd we say about behaving?" the Chosen One chastised with a _tsk_.

_I believe I called you a barbaric oaf_.

He wanted to claw the man's back to shreds, but thought better on it after he was rewarded with a long, slow swipe of tongue to his ear. Feeling teeth latch onto his lobe and _pull_disassembled another layer of his control and he bit at his lip to keep from doing something reckless.

Soon enough, his ears weren't the only parts of his body being abused. Harry trailed nimble fingers over his pert nipple and pinched only hard enough to tease.

Frightened by the sound of his own groan and having his sight suddenly returned, Draco startled hearing Harry's amusement and feeling the rumbled chuckle reverberate through his own chest as the former Gryffindor pressed their bodies together.

"I want to hear you," he explained simply and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the previously abused nipple. Paying equal attention to Draco's other, the blond sighed in contentment and wove his fingers through ebony locks. Scratching his nails atop Harry's scalp caused an unusual rumbled growl to disturb the air and the man resolved to bite rather ruthlessly into the indention between his abdominals—a place he never considered an erogenous zone before Harry's talented tongue found it and lapped at the tortured bit of flesh.

Lower still; the man spent an amazing amount of time at Draco's navel—possibly spurred on in hopes of the blond's sling of curses and keening noises.

Harry was wonderful at this. A fierce pang of jealousy rose in his stomach at the thought of the Man Who Lived practicing his skill with anyone else and knowing his body as well as he already seemed to know Draco's.

Sensing the change of tenseness in the air, Harry stopped his ministrations and looked sincerely at the currently panting philanthropist with his hands still locked firmly in place.

And damn-it, if the sight of Harry Potter almost between his knees didn't hush that horrible green monster up, Draco couldn't have conceived a better way.

"What's wrong?" he breathed, and the husky, overworked mouth coupled with the gust of air tickling his belly button was more than enough to forget entirely why he tensed in the first place. "You sort of zoned out on me. Not in the hopeless pleasure kind of way."

Determining no correct course of action, and finding that adorably dishevelled face resting so innocently against his lower stomach, Draco decided on honesty.

"You're just brilliant at this whole thing and I'm not as experienced and knowing how many men you've been with makes me violently angry." Pride swelled as he noticed not one out of turn phrase in the confession.

"If it makes you feel _at all_consoled, you're the only person I've ever had to tear myself away from on the way out."

"Just full of fucking sentiment, Potter," he muttered sarcastically.

"It's easier than saying; you're the only man I've ever seen a future with. The only man I've ever loved. And the only man I'd let suffer through being with me."

A ridiculous grin was threatening to break his hardened mask, but Harry obviously noticed the inner turmoil as he continued his course downward—bypassing a very neglected part of Draco's anatomy.

Whimpering in plain discontent, Harry ignored the pleas and paid close attention to the blond's inner thighs. Higher and higher his tongue proceeded, just missing Draco's fully erect member.

Then the wet muscle was gone all together.

Before he could protest, Harry was blushing and Draco's curiosity immediately hushed any complaints.

"Can you roll over? I'd like to try something." The question was so quiet and Draco wondered what could possibly make the former Gryffindor forget his courage.

Forcing his own inhibitions aside, the blond did turn and awaited whatever idea was forming in that strange brain of his.

Without warning, Harry's mouth returned. This time, though, on a very private area of his body.

"Harry, what are you—_oh_." That tongue was twirling an abundance of patterns around his arse and coming dangerously close to his entrance. "_Fuck, Harry,_" he moaned unabashedly into the pillow his face found refuge in. He could feel his muscles relaxing at the welcomed force as he canted gently into the mattress.

This wasn't at all like the first time.

Perhaps because this also didn't feel like the _last_ time either.

They were learning each other all over again. Because of Harry, they had all the time they would ever need. Not a stitch of skin would go un-worshipped. Not a single word would go unheard.

Unless Draco died in ecstasy within the next moment.

_What a way to die_.

"If you have any intentions of fucking me properly, Potter, you'll get your face out of my arse and put something we can both enjoy in its place." Naturally, there were a bit more pauses for breath and "fuckohMerlin's"thrown into the statement, but Draco would remember a proper speech without any sort of marring.

"Can't say I wasn't enjoying it, _Malfoy,_but who am I to refuse someone of your stature?"

"Keep up with that mentality and we might have something here."

His hips were lifted until his knees supported the bulk of his weight; he craned his neck backwards to receive a hard and sloppy kiss from Harry before resuming his position and shutting his eyes tightly in preparation for the intrusion.

However, the pain didn't come. His yearning manhood was collected gingerly within the brunet's fist and pumped steadily as he felt his body being filled, not uncomfortably so, but rightly so. They fit well.

If Draco were a man of fate or a born Hufflepuff, he'd say they were made for each other. Being neither of the two, he settled on meeting Harry halfway with a strangled cry. The man's answering groan of approval urged him to impale himself to the hilt.

Reaching behind himself, he was able to hoist his upper body against the former Gryffindor's sweat soaked chest and create an angle that touched an incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves within him.

Over and over, he fell onto Harry's shaft and heard curses he couldn't comprehend spill from the Saviour's lips. The feeling accompanied by the sound nearly threw Draco over the brink and at the sense of his completion, the blond pulled Harry back to his mouth for a deep and clumsy kiss made of breaths and sharp bites.

With one glorious tug and touch, Draco screamed his release along with Harry's name. The man buried within him found his climax not a fraction of a second later and bit forcefully into a flushed, normally pale, shoulder blade.

The Man Who Lived supported both bodies as Draco slumped against him. His own cock was lazily being coddled still while Harry's own member sat nestled inside of him. Oddly enough, the former Slytherin didn't mind the positioning. If anything, it was a pleasant fullness and intimacy he hadn't shared with anyone before.

"Draco," Harry started, haphazardly kissing closed mouth kissed to his bitten shoulder. "Can we lay down for a bit?"

"Worn out?" He managed with little spite. "I s'pose we could rest."

Slipping out of Draco with a small hiss, Harry flopped gracelessly onto the bed and opened his arms for the blond to fall into. Wrapping discarded blankets about the pair, Draco snuggled into the warm embrace and sighed with a very satisfied smirk painting his face.

"Things are going to be different when we return, aren't they?" the former Slytherin asked tentatively whilst drawing through the drying moisture collected on Harry's calming chest.

"You won't be seeing Terence again, if that's what you're getting at." _So, I'm not the only one who's—_"Thought you were the only jealous type? I'm not above knocking the git's face in."

"I'd rather you not knock anyone's face in," Draco yawned involuntarily. "I don't have the pull you have in court, so it'd be much harder for me to save your over reactive arse."

Harry laughed and Draco found himself falling in love with the sound.

That could have come with falling in love with the tosser attached to it, though.

* * *

><p>Matthew awoke with birds at his window and a sister at his feet. Stretching his arms above his head, he grunted to announce his consciousness.<p>

"You're awake! So sorry if I woke you, I just got up early and came in to see if you were awake and kind of got lost in the old room." The girl was frantic with apology and became far more tranquil after a few deep breaths. "Good morning."

"Morning," he mumbled sleepily, rubbing the backs of his hands over his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly noon. I don't blame you, though. You met practically the entire family last night. I told Gram not to call everyone, but you've gotten to know her, so I'm sure you already understand." Shaking her head in mock disapproval, she offered a smile and continued. "Anyway, I want to get Karina back to her father before he has a coronary about her whereabouts. We'll wait for you to get your things together- as long as you need. No rush."

In the process of the evening's turnout, Matthew decided something dreadfully life altering.

These people, his family, were all wonderful. They made him feel appreciated and loved. He had a home here, perhaps not the home he thought he wanted, but a home full of the people he'd always hoped for. And it was in witnessing their kindness that he decided on his next course of action.

"Elizabeth," he began, throat drying. "I'd like to stay here."

For an immeasurable amount of time, she didn't speak. Flatly, she searched his face for any signs of jest. Finding none, she uttered a single, "Oh."

"I think I'd get along in the Muggle world."

Her smile was dimming, but still maintained a genuine understanding of the importance of belonging.

"I'll tell Draco," she promised and rounded the corners of Matthew's bed to hug the boy against her and press a kiss to the top of his head. "I love you, Matty. And we'll visit every chance we get."

* * *

><p>Standing at the door to his centre, Draco looked at the work he'd built from the ground, up. It was amazing to see what could come of a single idea.<p>

A pair of familiar arms wrapped snugly around his waist and the blond leaned back into the embrace.

"Ready to cause a scene?" Harry posed seriously, squeezing tighter in support.

Chewing his lip in idle thought, the man nodded and snickered to himself at the memory of his own words.

_Everyone deserves a second chance._

At the time, he promised this wasn't his own second chance. All of this good wasn't for personal gain. And yet, here he was, basking in the glories of the shelter's doing.

Then again, Harry and he always did find some tragic way of bumping into each other.

And perhaps this wasn't solely _his_ second chance, but Harry's as well.

His chance to love and be loved not as a Saviour of the Wizarding World, but as a man with chaotic hair and hideous glasses. The man he'd grown into and not the prophecy born into.

This may have been their second chance with each other. But, it was their first chance at happiness.

_And damn-it if I'm going to miss the opportunity._

"Let's do this, Love," Harry encouraged. "Together."

And that's precisely what they did.

Together, the pair walked past the barrier between the outside and their very own _Second Chance._


	23. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

"Harry, have you seen my _Hogwarts: A History_?" Karina frantically asked, rummaging through the bottomless bag Hermione had given her for her eleventh birthday. Of course the witch expected the gift to be purely for educational uses. However, on more than one occasion, the young girl could be found extracting an innumerable amount of toys from the sack.

The Man Who Lived exhaled slowly with a smile and rolled his eyes before lifting his pillow to reveal the child's book. "Seems it made its way into our bed, Sweetheart. Wonder how that happened?"

For nearly a week, Karina had spent the nights in her father and Harry's bed, having the wizards read passages from her future textbooks. She was nervous and had every right to be.

Hogwarts began today and Draco was still at the office. He'd meet the pair, Elizabeth, and Narcissa at King's Cross Station at most likely the very last moment.

The blond was sentenced to serve under the Ministry after his trial six years ago and wound his way into the system permanently. Working between the centre and Ministry, Draco found place in an Auror position, partnering with Hermione of all people who had completed her training alongside him. Unfortunately, that left little to no time to take care of _Second Chances_ the way it deserved to be taken care of. So, Harry and Elizabeth worked to manage the shelter together with Narcissa still behind them every step of the way.

Matthew would help during the summers as he continued his Muggle education. He was currently enrolled in a doctoral English program at Cambridge University, living the Muggle life he felt would give him the proper normalcy he craved. Magic always helped, though.

His family was thrilled for both he and Elizabeth. Thrilled even if they had only been left with each other and vacant of the torrents of success they were all experiencing together.

"Karina, stop fidgeting. You're making me nervous."

Harry never could believe the way in which events turned. Seven years ago, he did not intend to return to the Wizarding world. Six years ago, he couldn't imagine leaving.

It seemed that living anonymously was perfect for someone who had lost all hope and chance of happiness. Harry had more to live for. He served his purpose during the war and that was most evident, but surviving and vanquishing didn't make him obsolete. People still needed him.

As a friend.

As a confidant.

As a lover.

And surprisingly, as a father.

"I'm sorry. I just—well, what if I can't make friends? Or, what if Teddy puts Uncle George's boogie balls in my hair again? It took Mum a month to clean that out." The young witch crinkled her nose in memory. With her mind preoccupied, Harry took the opportunity to grab Karina by her waist and twist her upside-down to blow raspberries into her stomach—a move he'd watched Draco perfect in times of peril.

She succumbed instantly to a fit of high-pitched giggles and kicked at her oppressor, nearly knocking his teeth back into his skull.

Tossing the child onto the large mattress of the master bedroom with a thumped bounce, Harry watched her face fall slightly back into innocent worry.

"Honey," he cooed, thinking his past self would never let him live down his obscene amount of pet name usage. "You're going to make all sorts of friends. And you can have boogie balls to take with you and stick in Teddy's hair if he teases you."

"It's not the same. He can change the colour of his hair to match the goon," she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I _don'twanttobeinSlytherin_." The last bit was marred by mumbling, but Harry thought he could understand the gist of it.

"You don't want to be in Slytherin? I won't tell your father." The man laughed, taking a seat next to the nervous girl worrying her lip to within an inch of its life. "Did I ever tell you about how _I _was almost placed in Slytherin?"

Her eyes widened in curiosity and her pout transformed into an 'oh' of astonishment. "You never told me you were almost in the same group as Daddy!"

_What a world we would have lived in …_

"I was. Actually, he was a big reason for me not wanting to be in Slytherin. He was the first wizard I'd ever met, Karina. But, he was such a mean little boy. Nothing like you," he made to mention, winking at the girl who straightened in pride. "The hat wanted to put me in that ruddy house with Draco and I kept pleading not to go. I wanted to be with my friend Ron. So, the hat put me in Gryffindor instead—just like my mother and father."

"Were you sad when they couldn't take you to school on the first day?"

Along with sharing a life with Draco, came sharing his life with Karina. She was so curious for her age, always wanting to know more about Harry. About everyone. And everything.

"They're always with me," he said seriously, pointing to his chest, "in my heart."

Karina nodded in understanding. She'd lived without a mother and a father as well. The girl knew well what it felt like to hold a memory instead of a hand. It took strength to overcome obstacles. It took courage to see goodness in life's upsets.

A small hand wove its way into Harry's own and that very same hand squeezed carefully. "If you'd like, we can pretend that I'm your mum when we go to the train? Maybe I won't be as scared if we're pretending."

"Of course we can pretend. We can do whatever you need, Love," he promised, applying a small pressure to her hand in return.

"Thanks, Harry."

Karina crawled into Harry's lap and nestled easily under his chin whilst the saviour wrapped his arms around the girl in a strong embrace.

"You know I'm always here if you need me. I love you so much, Karina."

That was true. He loved the child as though she were his own. She was her father's daughter and anything he loved about Draco immediately shined in this witch. Karina was feisty and smart—terribly clever for her age. She was kind and gentle. Witty and charming. With her mother's beautiful face and father's undeniable charisma, Karina would hardly find issue at Hogwarts.

Unless that issue was the extreme possibility of being mobbed by adoring fans. In that case, Harry would absolutely defend her to the death. _No one _would lay a hand on Karina while Harry drew breath. And no one would dare think to after learning who her allies were.

"I always manage to ruin these moments of yours, don't I, Potter?"

"Daddy!" Karina beamed, not leaving Harry's arms, but inviting her father into their hug. He followed, awkwardly filling the gap left between his daughter and former Gryffindor.

"You're home early," Harry observed, touching his lips to the blond's cheek and brushing a strand of hair across his brow. How the man could have suppressed the natural smoothness of such soft and ethereal hair with terrible gels during school should have been deemed a crime. "Slow day?"

Snorting in obvious disagreement, Draco hoisted his child from their position and secured her onto his back, growing rather tall in recent years, nearly five feet, the blond had the most difficult time throwing her about anymore.

"The exact opposite, actually. I see why you kept Hermione around. The girl's absolutely phenomenal at paperwork. And it doesn't hurt when you're seeing her best friend," he winked in Harry's direction.

"Just using me to get out of the boring bits of Auror work, I see. You know, if it weren't for the girl on your back, I would have left you ages ago," he teased, standing to pause in front of Draco and taking hold of his waist. "Good thing I'm such a sucker for kids."

"Oh, hush, you. We're all fully aware of your commitment to your God-children. Was it Winifred or Frederick's arm broken after you 'advised' them '_tuck_ and _roll_' after flying from the swing?" Harry immaturely stuck his tongue from his mouth and without much warning the muscle was caught playfully in Draco's teeth.

Harry, not one to refrain from challenge, held himself snugly to Draco's middle half and returned the beginnings of a kiss.

"Oh, that's so _gross_! Could you two stop kissing when I'm here?" Karina jumped from her father's back and exited the room, shouting something along the lines of possibly making her own lunch and disappearing from the hallway.

Panting heavier that he wanted to whilst in 'duel' with Draco, Harry leaned his forehead against his counterpart's and sighed. "Train leaves at four, yes?"

Fortunately, he hadn't been the only man shaken, if the blond's steadily deepening voice was sign of anything. "Four. The train leaves at four."

_How __can I still possibly be__ so desperate for him?_

Blindly, the raven-haired man groped at Draco's face and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips, smiling whenever the blond followed for more and whined at the denial. Somehow, his hands managed to claw their way through Harry's hair, and with a rough tug, the former Gryffindor groaned.

_Cheeky bastard._

"Four o'clock," Harry muttered again before disentangling himself.

In the most Malfoy imbedded way, Draco sauntered backwards with a dangerous smirk gracing his features as he scanned Harry from head to foot and back again to Harry's eyes. The Chosen One could see, quite clearly, that Draco was transforming into the predator that he found irresistible. He bit his lip for distraction against the fluttering in his lower regions and just barely won against a threatening moan.

"Four o'clock," Draco warned and winked once more at a trembling hero.

_Damn-it! The limey fuck left me hard!_

* * *

><p>"And you have <em>everything<em>, Karina? We're not going to be sending you packages every other day with your forgotten items." Counting the suitcases for the seventh time, Draco took hold of his daughter's hand and lifted an eyebrow sternly in question. "Is this everything?"

"Dad, it's everything I could remember. Mum helped pack last night and Harry looked over it this morning. I think I'll be all right until Christmas. And with everything _you _packed, I think I'd be able to survive until graduation."

Harry chuckled behind his hand at the girl's attitude. Throwing a sharp glower in his direction, Harry swallowed his humour and fought the convulsions of laughter.

"Shut it, Potter. I'm in no mood."

In all honesty, he was terrified of letting his daughter go off by herself. She was remarkably bright and charming. Everyone privileged enough to meet her automatically doted on her as though she were royalty—which she was, in Draco's eyes.

"Mum!" the girl shouted and sprinted none too mindfully through a crowd of witches and wizards looking frantic already without the help of this overzealous eleven-year-old. "You almost missed me leaving for school!"

Draco could have ripped his hair out watching her run through strangers. The world wasn't any safer. If anything, people grew cleverer as time passed and the blond became more and more sceptical.

Living with Harry hadn't helped to remedy his cynicism either. It seemed the more the man put forth in effort; the more difficult reality was to comprehend. Harry Bleeding Heart Potter. Harry: saviour of all that is good and pure in the world. Harry—who had a turn at promiscuity for a brief period before dusting off the heart on his sleeve. Harry—who was the first to break in wanting to marry. Harry—who was willing to wait.

Harry—the man fully aware of his influence over Draco and never taking advantage of such power.

"Calm down, Love," he cooed gently into the blond's ear. "She's just as nervous as you are."

_Almost never._

"How do you do that?" Draco groaned bitter-sweetly in return. A well articulated "hmm"signalled the brunet's ignorance. "Stop me from combusting without even pulling a wand."

"One of the few of our age who can do wandless, remember?"

Draco turned to face Harry who was currently sporting a haughty smirk that could compete with his own. "Are you telling me you've been altering my emotions?"

"Only when you've been bat-shite crazy as of late. How else would I survive you? Don't be selfish, Draco." Ignoring the grunted snort and just avoiding a bony elbow to his ribs, Harry waved towards Elizabeth and Narcissa. "Over here!"

"For goodness sake, Dear. Do try to behave yourself—you're fuming."

_I wouldn't be so upset if I wasn't with Merlin himself. Self-entitled bastard._

Harry smiled as if he were following Draco's thoughts at the very same time they were developing.

"Sorry we're so late," Elizabeth quickly apologised. "Four adoptions today and we just finished signing the papers. How is she?" Looking more towards Harry for an answer, Draco felt a mixture of both hurt and healed pride. Pride in his Gryffindor for his role in Karina's life, but a sharp blow to his own ego for not being sought out where his daughter's well-being was concerned.

"She's tough. I'm sure the nerves will disappear the moment she steps onto the train," he promised confidently. The reassuring words had the blond forgetting his earlier disagreement and lacing his fingers through Harry's in thanks.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Karina scoffed and tugged at the un-tucked shirt of her father. "Teddy just got here and I'm going to sit with him. Is that okay?"

Gulping audibly, Draco nodded. He squeezed Harry's hand tighter in reflex and bent to one knee. Looking seriously into his only child's eyes, he searched hopelessly to find an ounce of the worry he felt. All too suddenly, she was wrapped firmly in his arms and he buried his face in her hair. Holding her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead, Draco released Karina and attempted his patented smirk.

"I love you, Sweetheart. Write to me if you ever need anything."

Returning the kiss, Karina blinked away a stray tear and ran to her mother and grandmother to say her goodbyes. Lastly, she looked to Harry and stuck her tongue out playfully at the man before he lifted her into a tight embrace and blew a set of raspberries into her cheek.

After being set back onto the ground, the girl took off towards her cousin at the door of the train. She waved behind her and disappeared into the nearest compartment.

Coming to stand beside Draco was Elizabeth, and both parents stared petrified at the train holding their daughter.

Karina found a window only a moment before the train began to move and with a wide grin, she waved and shouted her final farewells.

"She'll be all right, won't she?" Elizabeth whispered quietly to the blond.

"Of course. She has your looks and my brains. It's everyone else I'm worried about."

Sharing a small laugh together, the pair turned to find Harry and Narcissa discussing something in hushed tones and immediately ceasing all conversation once their discovery was noted.

"Care to share?"

"Fifty galleons, Harry. I'd bet my life on it," Narcissa continued as if Draco hadn't noticed the exchange. Jutting his hip outwards and crossing his arms over his chest, the former Slytherin waited impatiently for some sort of explanation. "Can I help you?"

The man rolled his eyes and turned his glare to Harry who raised both hands in mock surrender. "It's nothing of consequence, Love."

"Whatever you say, _Darling,_" Draco huffed annoyed. "We should probably get back home before my stomach eats itself."

"We ate just before we arrived," Harry mused and looked to Narcissa who was concealing a smile of her own. "I'd hate to get you worked up in this state."

"In what state?" the man wondered as his gaze shifted from the Chosen One to his mother and back again. Elizabeth, fortunately enough, seemed to be just as lost in the conversation and shrugged with indifference. "What state am I in?" His voice was shriller this time, stirring the parents and families away from their distancing students. "Oh, go back to waving at the bloody train! There's nothing to see here!"

It seemed the more upset Draco became, the more humour his mother found in the situation. And the more humour she found, the more agitated and anxious Harry became, making Draco upset yet again. A never-ending cycle of increased trauma.

"People are staring, Draco. You're making a scene."

"And you're being a prat," he countered, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling shallowly. A headache was forming ever so sharply at his temples and brow and he opted to walk away from the group to regain composure.

Unfortunately, he wasn't seeing a complete tosser, and Harry followed his outburst only a few steps behind.

"Come on, Draco, we're not eleven anymore. This isn't the time for a tantrum. Let's be excited for Karina, please? I don't want to fight. That's behind us."

Instead of knocking his teeth into his skull for calling him a child in so many words, Draco wordlessly agreed and turned to lean his head into the crook of Harry's neck and simply breathe. "Now would be a marvellous time to do that whole calming thing you've been up to."

"I've only been at it for a few months. With the stress at work and Karina in the back of that head of yours and whatever else might be troubling you, I was concerned. I didn't mean to offend you. I just hate watching you torture yourself." The blond didn't bother to look for a lie in Harry's features. His words were honest. His Gryffindor Wonder Boy only ever had his best interest at heart.

"You're a sap, Potter," Draco muttered after pulling away and straightening the fabric at Harry's shoulder.

"You're both a couple of saps."

Naturally, George would interrupt their small moment of togetherness. On his shoulders sat a very Luna-esque looking daughter and at his knee stood the spitting image of the man he was named after.

_And his father_, Draco supposed. They were twins after all.

"Wouldn't miss seeing you ship off Karina," he smiled and lifted Winni off his person and onto the ground. "Where's the little twerp?"

"Just missed her, George," Harry enlightened with a laugh at the man's timing and effort. "Lovely chance to see my God-kids, though. How are they?"

"We're good, Uncle Harry," Fred answered readily, and held out his hand for a shake. "Winni's been practicing with the brooms you sent us and she's getting really really good. But, I'm better." A toothless, proud grin shone from the boy's mouth.

"You've lost a tooth," Draco observed flatly, none too creative with kids unlike his own.

Fred stuck his finger through the gap between his teeth as though he'd forgotten. "Winni knocked this one loose last week."

"He touched my toothbrush," she justified capriciously.

Draco was at a loss. Perhaps it was better Karina didn't have siblings. "So, you knocked his tooth out?"

"He touched it with his butt, Uncle Draco." The clarification made all the difference and as her twin brother shrugged apathetically, the blond couldn't help but smile at how closely they resembled the man they were named after in spirit.

"Just like Fred, aren't they?" Harry murmured.

The former Slytherin nodded in agreement. "They're much cuter, though."

"I'll have you know," George boasted, "that my brother and I were as adorable a set of twins as the world will ever know. Much better looking than these two scraggly mutants."

Both children then began climbing their father's legs and George toppled over onto the ground with Fred and Winni jabbing his stomach with tiny fists. Harry bellowed in a fit of chuckles whilst Draco merely watched the spectacle. George was finally happy. Granted, his brother would always be missed. Yet he had these two reminders to live for and love.

Harry caught on to Draco's stoic stance and blind staring. The man brushed the backs of his fingers along Draco's jaw line to wake him from his mind's wanderings and the blond looked grateful enough for the interlude.

"Mind if we head home? I'm a bit laid out."

"You don't think we should help him?" That particular _him _was currently under the oppression of a set of twins far more vicious than he or his brother ever aspired to be. Draco couldn't be certain, but a bit of George's hair could have been torn out and lying a yard or so away. Or, it may have been an animal.

Doubting that, Draco shook his head in dissent and the two walked hand in hand away from the horrid screams and giggles of the scene behind them.

* * *

><p>Harry locked the door behind them as Draco made for the kitchen. The house was dreadfully quiet and an odd sense of hollowness settled at the absence of Karina. He wondered if and when they married if she would take his last name or keep her father's. Secretly, he hoped they would both take Potter.<p>

"Tea, Harry?" Draco called, probably halfway through making his cup already.

"Sounds great, thanks." Absentmindedly, Harry scanned he and Draco's home. Five years ago, they'd bought a place just outside of London in Surrey. It looked much more like a cottage than Draco completely agreed with—however, after enough begging, the blond complied. It was homey and the exact type of place Harry assumed would be perfect for raising a family.

That's what they were, after all, a family. Perhaps not a conventional family, but a family nonetheless.

Startled by his nearness, Harry stumbled in step and blushed at his clumsiness. Draco just stared wonderingly and offered the cup, which the former Gryffindor took graciously.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're worth more than that, aren't they?" he tried lamely to disrupt the path his mind wanted to travel. Dwelling too long on the notion of his life being where he needed it to be made it feel all too dreamlike and still an impossible feat.

"Priceless, Harry," Draco drawled with a quick kiss to the raven-haired man's cheek before striding towards the loveseat of the family room. The furniture was too big for one person and yet too small for two people if they had no desire of becoming intimate—intentional or no.

As Draco situated himself properly, he gestured for Harry to find his seat, which was huddled towards the corner in order for the blond to rest comfortably in his lap. The Chosen One settled into the routine easily, finding a warm sense of peace in the weight of Draco's presence. Idly, Harry stroked at the blond's stomach and felt the taught muscles twitch at the attention. Draco never embarrassed about his body's reactions to the wizard's stimulations anymore. And the Man Who Lived could never quite define the feeling such a simple fact gave him. It was more than comforting, more than content, more than ideal.

The former Slytherin sat his mug on the floor and twined his fingers through the hand atop his stomach. "It's quiet, isn't it? Without her here."

Harry nodded in assent. "We should have stayed with Elizabeth and your mum a bit longer. They miss her just as much as we do."

"They've got loads to do at the centre tonight. Mum scheduled like this for me. She didn't want me home tonight without you. Elizabeth offered to help. They're not all that daft, you see. They know you're one of the few things keeping me from jumping." Harry stiffened immediately at the cavalier comment. "It's a figure of speech, Harry. Breathe. I'm not suicidal." _Anymore, _the former Gryffindor finished in his head. The scars—the scars that covered Draco's nearly perfect skin—were of his own doing. It'd taken two long years of learning to trust for Harry to feel brave enough to finally ask about their origins. And another year to convince the man to remove his glamour.

"You know, I'm here when you need me," he politely pushed, hoping the blond would reveal whatever occupied his thoughts.

"My knight in shining armour, you are," Draco teased half-heartedly and took Harry's hand to press a closed mouth kiss to his palm. "Thank-you, though. I know I'm not exactly a vacation."

"I wouldn't love you if you were."

It was in these moments where Harry could truly see how far they'd come. The openness and honesty. No longer laughing at each other's sentiment or cowering behind snarky declarations of partial love. Never in public, of course. But, that would ruin the value. In private, the pair could simply be. They weren't heroes or villains, they weren't Aurors or supervisors, they weren't the picture-perfect finish the tabloids wrote torrents of.

Here, they were Harry and Draco. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Draco continued to kiss from Harry's palm to his wrist and a shiver ran its course from the tips of the saviour's fingers through to his shoulder and back. With his available hand, he began to brush the blond's fringe from his eyes and rake through the fine hairs towards his ear. Steadily, the former Slytherin found himself fully seated atop of Harry, his mouth still securely fastened to the man's wrist. Gently, the brunet slid the appendage from his grasp and replaced it with his own lips before Draco could pout in protest.

Gradually, the kiss deepened as pale hands travelled to the nape of Harry's neck and pulled softly at the chaotic locks resting there. The Man Who Lived gasped at a particularly hard tug and Draco took that opportunity to delve further into Harry's mouth, mapping the inner caverns at the roof and sides only to finish with a light bite to his lip and continue the path again.

Needing a moment to collect any sort of air, Harry grasped his partner's hair and yanked harshly to move lower towards the very edge of Draco's jaw. Hot breath lapped at the lobe of the blond's ear and he began to rock with a precise slowness into Harry's groin. The Chosen One's eyes lulled to the back of his head and in his moment of distraction, Draco was able to gain the upper hand and hastily removed Harry's shirt before scratching the uncovered flesh from collar to abdomen.

The former Gryffindor hissed in appreciation, always painstakingly aroused by Draco's forcefulness during sex. An answering hardness met his own and Harry made to grasp at the blond's bottom for anchor in prelude to meeting his tiny thrusts.

Feeling confined by too many clothes, the raven-haired man unbuttoned the buttons of Draco's shirt to reveal almost perfect alabaster skin. Reluctantly, he tore away from the blond's face to pay tribute to his miraculously sculpted chest. Training had transformed Draco's body into something surreal and if the opportunity arose, Harry would begin a religion to worship such an unbelievable and faith-challenging sight. The hardened planes of his pectorals lightly dusted with nearly invisible hairs, the rippling muscles of his abdomen twitching with the slightest stimulation, his inward navel introducing another almost translucent path to a strained and needy anatomy, and the tough ridges of hip bones jutting fiercely from his denims made Harry all but scream in frustration for not being able to appreciate everything all at once.

"Fuck, Harry. Not so hard." Victim to his imagination, the Chosen One hardly realised the exact force his bites were issuing and found a rather darkening bruise and indention along Draco's clavicle. "I don't mind your mark, but I hate having to heal them."

Suffices to say this happened frequently enough. Harry would wander into his own musings and scratch a bit too deeply, bite too severely, or pull too callously. Draco enjoyed wearing his wounds if they didn't keep him from working properly. From time to time, they could be too painful to showcase proudly.

"Sorry," he mumbled apologetically and lapped at the blotch, causing Draco to squirm in his lap and meet his growing problem at an erratic pace. Harry held one hand at the base of the blond's spine to keep his grinding at a minimum pace he could easily withstand as the other tickled the flexing and tensed contours of his back—still stressed from a raid not two days passed.

Strangely enough, the former hero wasn't jealous of Draco for his role. He was proud and relieved that they could each protect their counterpart as history seemed to repeat.

Slipping the remainder of the shirt from his arms, Harry touched his lips to the indent at Draco's shoulder and the man paused for only a fraction of a second before moaning sheepishly at the wordless sentiment.

"Bed, Harry," he panted and wretched himself from the brunet's grasp. Harry followed suit and nearly made the journey—really, he was quite motivated and had all intentions of going straight to the bedroom—but something about the sight of his lover's mussed hair and swollen lips caused him to check Draco against the doorway and continue his assault uninhibited. The former Slytherin laughed into the kiss Harry certainly couldn't wait for and wound his arms about the Man Who Lived's neck. "Almost there, Love. And you'll be happy to know I hit the knob—so there's sure to be a bruise by morning."

The former Gryffindor growled territorially and opened the door, nearly tripping over Draco after managing to undo his trousers on the way. And again, the blond chuckled low and deep at his enthusiasm.

_Finally, _Harry had managed to collapse onto the mattress with Draco in suit between his bare legs. The blond's fingers danced gracefully over his bent knee and towards the very tops of his thighs, which were quivering noticeably at the impossibly featherlike caress. The brunet groaned as Draco's wanderings never quite found the destination he was most excited about.

For the first time, in quite a while, there wasn't a need to rush. No hurried silencing spells or locking charms needed applied. No need to stand at the edge of a knife in wait of parenting. They were alone, perfectly alone in this cozy little room.

Of course, _being the utter twat he is, _Draco fully intended on taking advantage of it.

Shimmying out of his pants, the former Slytherin smiled with an all-feral grin as he steadily ran his tongue over ridges of Harry's chest and stomach. The former Gryffindor inhaled sharply with a shudder as that remarkable man nuzzled and breathed hotly against the fabric covering his manhood. Latching onto the waistband of his pants with his teeth, Draco slowly removed the offensive article ever so fluidly. Returning to a most urgent task, the blond licked one long swipe against the underside of Harry's member, causing him to yelp in surprise and hiss as Draco blew cold air over hot flesh.

_He's gotten too good at this._

A sense of smugness washed over the Chosen One in knowing he was this God-send of a learner's teacher. However, being the perfect pupil, he far surpassed the master not too long after training began.

Harry had no cause for complaint.

Engulfing the entirety of his length, the brunet found leverage in the sheets beneath him, digging his fingers into the fabric instead of Draco's hair. There was no need for another bald spot. It'd taken months to grow back and longer still for the former Slytherin to forgive him. So, Harry settled with whitening knuckles and clenched jaw, allowing Draco any and all reign of terror on his person.

The man was indeed torturous.

He hollowed his cheeks until his mouth found Harry's tip and back again, continuing this mind numbingly sluggish pace in a cycle of never ending brink and pull back.

The Man Who Lived wanted to warn Draco of his imminent release, truly he did, but the sound caught in his throat as he opened his eyes to see the blond bobbing between his legs with perfectly soft hair strewn across his eyes and a look of absolute concentration.

All too familiar with Harry's reactions, Draco clamped the base of the man's cock and removed his lips with a final swipe against his head.

"Patience is a virtue," the blond chided while Harry grumbled about said man being a _bloody tease. _"Quit being selfish, Potter."

Positioning his bottom over the Chosen One's throbbing length, Draco unhurriedly impaled himself, constricting the muscles within him as he furthered downwards. Harry refrained from breathing or moving anything other than his hands to the former Slytherin's hips. When he was finally sheathed, he rolled his hips and watched as Draco's eyes rolled back in their wake.

_This _was the Draco he was so desperate for. _This _was the man who had been starring in his wettest dreams since they'd re-met. And _this _was his sanctuary—his impeccable slice of raw perfection.

Sweat beaded and fell over Draco's chest. Impulsively, Harry pushed himself onto his elbows and licked at the salty film decorating the blond's skin. The former Slytherin only pulled Harry closer, creating a friction between himself and the brunet's stomach. With the different angle, Draco constantly bounced into that bundle of nerves and whimpered airily after each thrust and roll.

Swallowing the sounds in a kiss, Harry took Draco's member in his hand and fisted it in time with the blond's erratic bounding.

Within an immeasurable moment, both men stilled and cried out in release, a blinding whiteness accompanying the glow of orgasm.

Coming to, Harry found himself on his back still within Draco while the man collected himself above him. He tried to remove himself unsuccessfully as the blond grunted disapprovingly at his antics.

"Let's just stay like this for a while, please?"

Harry nodded and stroked Draco's drying back and dampened hair. The blond drew patterns over the Chosen One's ribs and peppered kisses over his chest.

The silence was comfortable and unrushed. Each man had time to appreciate the simplicity of presence.

In the afterglow, though, an annoying tap sounded at the window of the bedroom and Draco startled at the interruption.

"It's that ruddy bird. Karina can't have forgotten something already. It's only been a few hours. She shouldn't even be unpacked yet."

Reluctantly, Harry slid from Draco and took responsibility of the owl. The blond continued to bicker while the Man Who Lived collected the bit of parchment and opened its contents.

"Dear Daddy," it read and Harry read aloud. "Tell Harry and Mum I'm not in Gryffindor or Slytherin. I'm a Ravenclaw. Imagine that? Hermione was right. Says the smartest witches get into Ravenclaw. She was an exception. I've already made quite a few friends. They're all very nice and I think I'm going to like the Hagrid man you didn't seem to like. He said he wants to introduce me to Buckbeak. Don't know what that means, but I'm looking forward to it." The brunet laughed nostalgically and Draco sneered at the humour he found in his childhood horror. "Anyway, the reason I'm writing—aside from my Sorting—is to tell you your ring for Harry was thrown into my luggage somehow. If you'd like, I can send it back to you or we can wait until Christmas. Tell Mum, Harry, and Grandma I said hello! Love you all!"

Blinking rapidly at the last sentences of the note, Harry let the letter fall from his grasp onto the floor and met Draco's widened grey eyes carefully.

"What ring is she talking about?" he whispered. When Draco didn't immediately answer, Harry asked a bit louder, "What ring is she talking about?"

"An engagement ring, Potter," the blond said proudly, straightening his shoulders.

"How long have you had it?"

Taking a moment to tally the time, Draco shrugged. "Perhaps a week or so after you asked me to marry you."

"Why the hell would you need to—?"

"Because I wanted to ask you!" he interrupted boldly. "I was the big, brave Auror and I deserved to ask the great Harry James Potter to be my husband. It wasn't fair that you just went ahead and asked me without consulting me first."

"Asking you _was_ consulting you, Draco," Harry smiled wryly, shaking his head with the former Slytherin's stubborn and old-fashioned, masculine nature. "Does this mean you want to—"

"Spend my life attached to an insensitive and inconsiderate prick? I suppose so." Again, he shrugged and shut his eyes tightly and Harry lunged and tackled him back into the mattress.

Kissing with a ferocity he didn't think himself capable of after their previous exploits, Harry felt his heart swell to possibly chest breaking sizes.

"I love you so much, you terribly entitled bastard, you."

"And I guess I've grown fond of you," Draco managed before Harry pinched the still recovering bruise paining his chest. "Fine, I love you too, arsehole."

Following another round or two of playful pets and chaste kisses, the couple relaxed into simply holding the other close and continuing the peaceful pleasantness of being together.

Disrupting the quiet spell of the room, Draco cleared his throat and questioned, "Harry, what did my mother bet fifty galleons on this afternoon?"

"She said you were pregnant," he chuckled. "Explained your mood swings, odd eating habits, and just all around attitude lately." Finding a very unnerving feel to the laugh he was sharing only with himself, Harry silenced himself and prepared for some sort of landslide.

"Surprise?" Draco squeaked with a wince. And for the second time in not ten minutes, Harry felt the wind knocked completely out of him in absolute shock. As his face began to blue in lack of oxygen, the blond shook him back to the present. "Breathe, Harry. It isn't all that uncommon in wizards. Magical conception is much different from Muggle conception. It's a sharing of compatible power."

After allowing the blow to settle, Harry felt oddly at ease. The shock far outweighed fear or rejection of the idea and an immediate sense of unconditional love overtook any coherent thought plausible.

"Can he be a Potter?" Harry murmured- his hand tentatively reaching outwards to touch this future father's stomach.

"I would say so," Draco reasoned palpably. "Why would he have a name different from his fathers?"

Realising the blond meant to take his name in marriage caused a pleasant churn to stir in the pit of his stomach. Draco reached for his hands and squeezed with a gentle force as they processed the future together.

Soon, there would be a boy or girl made from the magic of love gracing the earth. Soon, the product of something more powerful than any and all wizard would find home within these walls. That child would be of both Harry and Draco's doing.

The Man Who Lived knew what brought him here and never would he again ignore or run from his certainty.

In order to be truly happy, all one really needed was a touch of magic, infinite love, and a willingness for second chances.

_Mischief Managed_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Well, that's all she wrote, folks. I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil._

_Lord of the Rings? Anyone?_

_Thank-you for reading. You've been the most wonderful audience I've ever written for. _

Thank-you, **Sympel**. Never have I had the pleasure of working with someone as wonderful at what they do as you.

Stay excellent, Miss Iss.


	24. That Was The End, This Is A Note

So, yeah. That was it. Erm. I had an idea for a sequel. But, odds are, I won't write it for a long time. If at all. Instead, I'd like to post little scenes from Harry and Draco's future together. Yes, for selfish reasons. I'm nothing if not honest. But, I don't know, revisiting is nice.

Sort-of like coming home. Playing with characters. Developing further.

Anyway, thank-you for reading. If you enjoyed the ride, that's wonderful. If it was a chore, that's unfortunate. Maybe the little additions will enhance the experience?

They'll at least give me something to do with my hands. And if you're itching for a particular scene, let me know. It doesn't have to be Drarry. It can be a scene explaining Elizabeth's role, or George and Luna. Frederick and Winni…

I'll do my best.

Love forever always,

Courtney


	25. I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus

_I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus_

Several Christmas seasons passed before Harry genuinely got in the spirit of things- as the Muggles say. He wasn't used to such extravagant measures. Didn't know a home had to glow at least a fraction brighter than the sun in order to be deemed socially acceptable. Wasn't aware that your Christmas was only as successful as the number of people accumulated at your fourth celebration.

Apparently the first three were rehearsals for the main event. In the Pureblood Malfoy household, at least…

Harry hadn't the slightest clue about trees. There should be twelve. And each should be clad in the presents mentioned throughout _the Twelve Days of Christmas. _

Draco swore the song was written by a wizard. Harry allowed him his dignity.

Needless to say, day five was terribly expensive, but not nearly as frustrating as day six. The former Slytherin insisted on having real miniature geese-a-laying. And Harry received the honor of cleaning up after said birds.

Reindeer were available to rent. Magic, flying reindeer were also available. So, naturally, eight reindeer decorated the Malfoy estate, and one special ordered deer with glowing nose.

People came from all over the world to see what this family pulled together for the holidays.

And Draco…

Well, Draco was wonderful. Brilliant, really. He coached Harry every step of the way. Down to the last candy cane.

The Chosen One never had a knack for creativity. In fact, he felt akin to a bumbling idiot at this time of year. But, Draco was patient. The more he could teach, it seemed, the more he fell into the spirit. His eyes had a funny way of lighting up with both innocence and experience at the mention of Christmas. His face would soften and his gaze would drift somewhere not of this world as he explained each ornament decorating the main tree in Malfoy Manor. As he discussed the history of a Malfoy Christmas through to the previous century. His nose would crinkle in a fascinating way as he reminisced a Christmas during a time he hadn't existed in- a story he found most distasteful as a deceased relative of his had the gall to wear orange to one of the first extravaganzas.

_He was a drunk, _Draco would say and crinkle his nose again. _Mother says he'd embarrass her enough to cuss in public. She was mortified until it became a family tradition. _

Harry smiled at the story he'd heard half a dozen times in the past two months. It always began in the same way. Draco would count the ornaments, making certain there were no cracks or chips or missing pieces. He'd find the broken ballerina figurine and smile that hazy grin Harry loved so much. It started with a closed mouth that lifted at the edges and eventually stretched to reveal perfect, pearly teeth. Teeth Harry had memorized down to the gums. Sometimes Harry would earn this smile and his heart would take a time or two to beat again. There was something earth shattering about the way Draco could break his heart and repair it again with the same smile. Unnerving. But, a welcomed destruction.

It was Christmas Eve- the lovers' first as a complete family. The previous Christmas was spent with a very pregnant Draco and a rather put-off Harry. While he respected the blond for putting his body through something as monumental as childbirth, he knew Draco. The man took advantage of his state- milked everything he could out of it until the delivery.

His name was Altair- named after the brightest star in his constellation. Draco's idea, of course. Harry wanted to name him James or Severus. The former Slytherin wanted something new and separate from the war, and with that argument, Harry couldn't side differently.

_Two eagles, a snake and a lion living under the same roof, _Draco mused in and out of consciousness after giving birth. _How about that?_

Altair was beautiful and so much of his father decided his features. Harry merely had a claim on his eyes, otherwise, the child was Draco's. From his platinum hair to pointy chin, Altair carried the Malfoy line.

Even his cries demanded recognition to his superiority. And he stuck to Harry like glue.

Another clear trait inherited from his father.

And born a day before Harry's birthday, Altair was the single greatest gift Draco could give him.

After what seemed hours, the Boy Who Lived finally had the infant at least attempting to sleep. Harry swore the child knew what night this was and felt an anticipation akin to his sister's.

_Figures he'd be as smart as his father. _

The raven-haired man shook his head and made a path towards the kitchen. His coddling had left him wide-awake and he recently discovered the magic of warm milk. Of course, his own brew wasn't as delicious as Draco's, but he hated waking the blond, especially when it wasn't his night to tend the children.

What with constantly on the battlefield—so to speak—and raising a family, the Auror was terribly exhausted.

And it was Christmas, after all.

Lost in practiced stirring, Harry startled at a pair of arms wrapping around his shirtless stomach. The tension lasted only a moment before he relaxed into the embrace, feeling a curiously soft cushion of fabric tickling his back. Still, though, he continued to stir and enjoyed the warmth behind him.

"You should have got me if you couldn't sleep. I would have made this for you." Lips pressed between his shoulder blades and a chin found the crook between Harry's neck and shoulder easily.

"I didn't want to wake you," the Chosen One whispered. "You looked worn out."

"My hero," Draco teased. "You know, we could have found other ways to tire you out."

Harry smirked and turned the heat of the stove off at the suggestion. "What did you have in mind?"

Turning suddenly, Harry was met with a sight that would have made him laugh if he hadn't found the whole ordeal too bloody cute to scoff at.

Draco was dressed in a bright red Santa Claus suit with a matching bright red hat, large black boots, and thick black belt with a golden buckle. The wizard hadn't stuffed the suit. It was tailored perfectly- like a second layer of skin. Only Draco could make adorable interchangeable with handsome. His porcelain skin shone that much brighter in contrast to the red of the suit. His eyes, as well, seemed more unworldly- a grey unseen and undiscovered.

And it was all for Harry.

"Perhaps I could give you an early Christmas gift?" the blond asked in his best feign at innocence. He stepped farther into Harry and let his hands roam the former Gryffindor's sides- earning a shudder and gasp. "Have you been good this year, _Harry_?"

Draco was so very close to him. Too bloody close to think properly. And he'd perfected rolling the r's of Harry's given name. That purr mingled with the same air Harry was currently having trouble breathing and the Boy Who Lived could only nod lest he embarrass himself.

"That's too bad," Draco pouted and ceased his skimming. "I had the perfect gift for someone who'd been naughty." The former Slytherin pulled away and appeared to honestly be leaving. Harry grabbed hold of his sleeve and quirked an eyebrow- hoping the gesture said _where the piss do you think you're going? _

"Kindly release my arm, Mr. Potter. I'm a busy Saint, after all."

"I changed my mind." A patented Malfoy smirk was well on its way to forming atop Draco's nearly perfect lips- _nearly _because Harry preferred them swollen and molded against his own. _Those _were perfect lips. And their current state could easily be remedied. "I've been all sorts of naughty."

The playfulness in Draco's face all but vanished as a lust Harry recognized well overcame him. His eyes clouded over with a predator's stare and his lips formed a snarl- another remarkable thing he could do with that very talented mouth.

Suddenly, a hand fisted itself in Harry's hair and pulled him forward to meet for a violent kiss. It only then occurred to Harry he'd been without the blond physically for longer than he cared to remember. His hands itched to wander over unattended skin and gave in to need. Unfortunately, Draco's skin was hidden beneath his suit and Harry knew this was an outfit he couldn't ruin with wandless magic.

Or his teeth…

The former Slytherin sensed Harry's distress, unimpressive as Harry was well aware of the pathetic noises he was making in protest of the layers between them. Draco took advantage of this and teased the Savior's stomach, trailing his kisses from the point of his chin to the hollow at his throat. When Harry's knees began to quake, Draco moved lower still.

Before he could begin his next onslaught of torture, Harry clutched at his lover's suit and Apparated the pair to their bedroom, stumbling over himself and dragging he and Draco onto the very spacious bed the blond insisted on purchasing last Christmas.

This was one indulgence Harry never regretted for a moment.

"Fuck, Draco," the Chosen One hissed as Draco laved at his navel- dipping that cursed tongue in and out, swirling the edge, and dipping inside again. "Please be naked. I want you naked. I _need _you naked. Please." Harry knew his tone was desperate. But, pride took a back seat to his need for Draco.

It always would.

Sympathizing with a chuckle, Draco pushed himself away from the Boy Who Lived and stood before him with an impish grin painting his devilishly handsome face. Slowly, painfully slowly, he began to undress. His belt was first to fall softly against the plush carpet beneath his feet. One agonizing button followed, then another, then another, to reveal a practically flawless chest- sculpted by Auror training and years of Quidditch. _Finally, _the article fell and Harry unconsciously licked his lips, which were curiously dry.

He was becoming nervous, something he hadn't felt with Draco in some time. He began to question his good fortune- question the love _his _lover promised each and every day.

As if they were made of one mind, Draco stilled. "I love you, Harry," he assured confidently.

Harry nodded and felt inclined to believe him. He trusted Draco beyond anything else. His word was as good as gold, if not better. In fact, it _was _better. It was _priceless. _

With a different slowness, a gentle slowness, Draco fell back into his original position above Harry- careful not to make contact just yet. He simply observed Harry's face and smiled softly. Draco brushed the hair from Harry's forehead and pressed a kiss to his infamous scar. As always, the former Gryffindor closed his eyes with a shiver. This tender side of Draco never ceased to amaze Harry. It was this selfless instinct that awed him into submission.

He was completely and utterly Draco's.

"I love you so much, Harry," he promised once more and brought their lips together for a chaste kiss.

"I love you, too," Harry returned and fought valiantly for a more intrusive kiss. Stunned by the pressure, Draco fell and Harry groaned pleasantly as their chests touched.

With bottom halves still clad, the Boy Who Lived shamelessly rutted against the former Slytherin.

Whining in frustration, Harry began to shimmy out of his sleeping pants and had the offensive fleece down past his knees before wandlessly ridding them to some other universe in dire need of pants. Harry made quick work of Draco's red trousers, and with the button and zip undone, he brought his hands around the blond's back and under the edge of his pants to knead at the firm globes of Draco's arse. This caused the Auror to buck forward and provide an ounce of the friction Harry craved.

Impatient, and willing to adhere to the consequences, the Boy Who Lived vanished his lover's trousers and was met with a sharp bite to his lower lip.

"Not nice, Potter," Draco warned while simultaneously administering soothing licks to the abuse he caused. Harry's hands never left their position. His hips snapped upwards while bringing the blond's lower half downward.

Their members sat trapped together in glorious friction, but it wasn't enough. Harry needed to be inside of Draco. Needed to hear him scream. Needed to feel that heat surrounding him.

"On your back, _please_," Harry panted. "Just while I prepare you."

_I want ridden tonight._

"Since you asked so nicely," he said before rolling over and situating himself accordingly. Instead of offering his fingers, Harry immediately poised level with Draco's entrance and licked a stripe over the crack. The Auror yelped in surprise and arched wantonly at the attention. Harry watched the man's impressive length bob with unconscious thrusts, leaking in encouragement. "Harry, please. I'll come if you don't stop."

The raven wizard did as he was told and made to lie on his back next to the former Slytherin. A moment of confusion passed before Draco caught on to Harry's unasked request and he straddled his thighs. The Chosen One slid his throbbing cock against the crack of Draco's arse and before the blond could become overwhelmed by the sensation, he gripped the base of Harry's unattended member and rose only to impale himself in one motion.

Both men grunted and seemed to hold the same breath. Harry wondered momentarily if Draco felt the same fullness he did when they were reversed. Wondered if anything could ever feel as wonderful as Draco. Wondered if they'd always be this desperate for each other.

"H-harry, Harry, Harry," the blond chanted. "_Mmm_, I need to move. Can I move, love?"

Harry nodded and gripped Draco's hips with bruising force. The blond rose and fell slowly, his teeth biting full, _finally swollen _lips to keep from whimpering.

_Not for long, _Harry thought dryly before returning his own thrusts. Canting his hips in a circular motion, Draco released the hold on his lip and allowed a strangled moan to escape his throat. Head thrown back, and arms bracing himself on either side of Harry's thighs, Draco acted in complete abandon. Sweat trailed from the line of his brow over the contours of his abdominals and farther past the light nesting of nearly invisible blond hair at the base of his severely neglected cock.

The sight of the normally controlled Auror uninhibited, fucking Harry as if the world would end at any moment, set a fire low in the Savior's stomach. Draco watched his lover with nearly closed eyes, his hair plastered to his forehead and disheveled in Harry's favorite way, a tiny, painfully pleased gasp falling from his perfect lips as his prostate was grazed over and over again.

Harry couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed himself to a sitting position, nearly toppling Draco in the process. The Chosen One balanced the pair and took Draco's cheek in his hand to lead their mouths together in a sloppy kiss peppered with random nips and licks at jaws and abused lips.

"Draco," Harry breathed and pet the blond's face absently. "So perfect, Draco. So perfect."

The Auror's face landed snugly against the juncture between Harry's neck and shoulder. He bit the flesh none-too-gently and Harry was certain he'd been marked. That was all he needed to tumble uncontrollably over the edge in a hoarse cry.

Darkness began at the edge of his vision until unconsciousness took him completely. A sharp bite at the lobe of his ear caused the Boy Who Lived to stir back to the present. He blinked rapidly and felt his eyes go impossibly wide at the realization of blacking out after sex. _Mind numbingly brilliant sex. _But, sex nonetheless.

"Glad to have you back," Draco snickered at his side. It'd been years since he been that overwhelmed by the blond. However, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but pride for his fiancé. This was a talent like anything else.

Noticing a hardness still very apparent rutting against his hip bone, Harry mumbled a preparation charm and squirmed as his body stretched and slicked.

"Make love to me?" he proposed, his voice dripping with exhaustion.

"You're tired, sweetheart."

Harry shook his head, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. There were some things only Draco could get away with. Pet names were one of those many things. "Never too tired."

The former Slytherin positioned himself above the raven-haired man and brushed his fingers lightly over Harry's skin. Goosebumps rose in their wake, from his collar to his navel. He felt his length begin to harden once more and gulped audibly as those same fingers meant to enter him. With careful consideration, Draco prepared Harry- expertly probing at the spot that the Chosen One was convinced would destroy him.

_A welcomed destruction, of course. _

"Please," he whispered and tugged Draco's face to his. The men stared into each other and the intimacy nearly broke Harry in two. Fortunately, he hadn't a moment to dwell on the weakness as Draco aligned himself and thrust home. Harry choked on a sob that had been hiding in the depths of his throat. He'd been too hasty and it had been too long since he'd bottomed. Draco made certain to tend to this pain immediately, muttering soothing nonsense to relax Harry- so in tune with his needs. The Savior's hands moved again to Draco's lower half and encouraged him to move.

The blond fell into rhythm with practiced ease- in and out, circling his hips just so. Like earlier, Harry wondered if he made Draco feel as full and whole. He hoped desperately that this was the case- hoped his blinding love for the former Slytherin carried over into his lovemaking.

Draco's pace quickened and his thrusts became erratic. Still very much aware of his lover, he took hold of Harry's now throbbing member and began to pump in time.

"_So close, Draco. Almost there," _Harry hissed in a language he knew would hit the blond's weak spot.

"Oh, _fuck. _Harry!" Draco shouted and came, dragging Harry right alongside him over the edge. Everything clouded in white as Harry fell again and as the shudders finished wracking his lover's body, Draco landed unceremoniously atop of Harry and paid no mind to the mess between them. "Harry," he breathed- his voice deep and sated.

"I want to sleep like this," Harry said quietly and drew random patterns across Draco's sweat-slickened back. The blond's head rose from Harry's chest and carried a loopy sort of grin. "You're so beautiful," the Savior admired. "It isn't fair."

"So are you," Draco returned seriously and pressed a lazy kiss to Harry's chin. "Magnificent, really."

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

Snuggling deeper and sighing contentedly, Harry could feel a smile against his chest. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

* * *

><p>Dawn came early for a reluctant-to-waken couple. Somehow, and gratefully so, blankets made their way to wrap around both Harry and Draco throughout the night.<p>

"Daddy! Harry! Wake up, it's Christmas!" Karina squealed with excitement and jumped onto their bed. "Stop making cuddles and come see what Santa brought!"

Draco groaned and stretched as his daughter made to open the curtains and scamper away. Shielding his eyes from the sudden burst of light, the blond nudged Harry.

"You realize she wasn't a morning person until you showed up," Draco complained with minimal ire. "Get up, lazybones."

"Just a few more minutes," Harry muttered into his pillow.

_Dammit if he's not adorable when he's knackered. _

Draco allowed his finger to trace a path over the Chosen One's back before finding a rather sensitive spot and tickling mercilessly. Harry thrashed until he fell from the bed with a thump that echoed well into the next room.

"You're an arse, Malfoy."

"But, I'm _your_ arse," Draco readily countered and leaned over the bed to place a kiss on his distressed lover's lips. Too early for his taste, he pulled away with a sigh. "Come on, now. We've got a long day. And Merlin knows your son's probably about to have another tantrum without you."

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled Draco from the bed. Not that he minded being his human blanket, but there certainly was a long day ahead- a day they couldn't ignore.

"Is someone jealous our son is playing favorites?"

Draco scoffed despite the truth in that statement. "Of course not. If he wants to love ickle Potty more than me, that's just fine!"

The men stood and located something presentable as to not scar their children with nudity. Harry tended to Altair and Draco followed the sounds of paper shredding to the Christmas tree decorating the sitting room.

"Daddy! Santa brought me a broom!"

Draco chuckled and shook his head while Harry came to stand beside him and watch his daughter unveil every gift beneath the tree.

"Look who just woke up," the Chosen One said in his best singsong voice and brushed noses with the infant in his hands. Altair giggled happily and licked his father's nose. "You little minx, you! Why don't you give Daddy some kisses?"

Without warning, Draco had his arms full of a child that would never be mistaken for anyone other than his own. Both stared wide-eyed at each other, evaluating the person staring back at him. Suddenly, though, Altair began his fits of laughter again and snuggled into the blond's neck, absently grabbing at the sleep-worn strands of hair collecting at the nape of Draco's neck.

"Your worry about him concerns me," Harry teased and dove into the presents scattered across the floor. The man was very much a child at heart, so much so that Draco found his daughter more mature in most instances. But none of this bothered or shamed the Auror in any way. He was far too willing to grant Harry the childhood he'd missed.

He'd give Harry anything. Even his name.

As the presents dwindled and a breakfast of cookies was served, Altair began to fuss and Karina insisted on putting him down for a nap.

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying him, Daddy."

Father and daughter tiptoed quietly to the baby's room and Draco watched her motions meticulously.

"You'd want me to tell you if I saw something I thought was bad, right?"

The abruptness of his first child's question caught Draco off guard and reduced him to a grunt of affirmation.

"I think I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus last night."

"Sweetheart," Draco said gravely, "I haven't kissed anyone other than you and Harry and Altair. Oh, and Grandma. You know I'd never do anything to hurt our family."

The young witch huffed in annoyance. "Not _you. _I meant _Harry_."

"But, you said _Daddy._"

Karina's arms crossed over her chest as her hip jutted forward in contest. "I can have two Daddies if I want. Unless," she considered, "you think Harry would rather not be my dad. That's okay, too. I mean, he has his own baby now."

Draco knelt to one knee and took his daughter's hands in his own. "He'd love to be your father, Karina. Harry loves you and Altair exactly the same. And that's quite a lot."

"I really love Harry, too. And Alty. He looks like you, and sometimes I think I look a little like Harry. I already asked Mum and she said I could call Harry whatever I wanted."

"Should we go tell him?"

Karina nodded with enthusiasm. "But, what about him kissing Santa? I saw it."

Draco could do little more than bellow over in laughter.

* * *

><p>While Altair slept, a lion, an eagle, and a serpent prepared for Christmas at the Burrow. Harry fumbled nervously with the box in his hands as Draco wrapped the remainder of gifts they'd neglected until the last minute.<p>

"You're making me nervous with your fidgeting, Harry."

"I have a present for you," the Savior burst. "I know we said we'd just go away for a while, but I thought it was only fitting."

Draco meandered over to his fiancé curiously and extracted the box from a trembling hand. Harry resumed wrapping and a gasp was heard above the tearing of paper.

"It seemed unfair to be the only one wearing a ring when we're to be married in less than a year."

The raven-haired man kept his gaze purposely occupied. And until a cold bit of gold touched his cheek, Harry remained stoic. "It's beautiful," Draco whispered and kissed the cheek not covered by his hand.

Harry removed that same hand and admired the gold band with green diamonds. It suited Draco's delicate, yet strong, fingers.

And it was a claim. A claim Harry had wanted to make official for years.

"Thank-you, Harry," Draco smiled and tangled their ringed fingers together.

A comfortable silence followed, interrupted too soon by their oldest eagle.

"Daddy!" Karina barked from the floor below. "I need you to braid my hair!"

Harry laughed and released the hand he held captive. "Duty calls."

"You know I can't braid worth a damn, Potter. She was calling for you."

"She called for her dad," Harry repeated uncertainly before the message dawned on him.

Draco grinned- that funny sort of smile, which started as a stretching of lips to reveal perfect, pearly teeth.

"Go to, now. She's not a Potter yet and Malfoys hate to be kept waiting."

"Daddy!" Harry heard once more, stirring a warmness in his chest that was rapidly filling his entire being.

It was the happiest Christmas Harry could remember.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Let's be real, I did it for the smut. And shameless advertisement. _

_Okay, maybe a little shame. And a little procrastination. _

_And perhaps to invite you all to read Home- a work in progress. It can be found in my stories. There are already five chapters, so you've something to look through. _

_Thank-you for reading! I miss this story with my whole heart. _


	26. Happy New Year

_Happy New Year_

Draco returned from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to the smell of garlic and a familiar tune. Hermione had graciously offered to watch both Karina and Altair for New Year's Eve, thinking the normally occupied parents could do with a night off.

Of course, taking the two anywhere was never a simple task. Draco must have had seven cups of tea, ruined totally and completely by excessive amounts of sugar, with his daughter and her adoring fan, Rosie. Altair fussed at Harry's absence, always in search of that raven hair, and actually examining the hair owned by the arms coddling him. His nose would scrunch in distaste immediately before turning his face away and wailing for his favorite father.

_Harry won't convince me otherwise. _

It had taken Draco four hours to pacify his son and sufficiently wear out Karina. Another hour of Quidditch talk with Ron, and an hour of interrogation with Hermione.

"_You're not getting cold feet, are you?" she'd asked, and patted her rapidly expanding stomach. _

_Draco settled Altair into the cradle Hermione would soon place her own son and quirked an uncertain eyebrow. "Why would you ask that? Has Harry said something? He's not-."_

"_Shh," she cooed gently, pulling Draco from his son and into the hallway, closing the door behind them. "He says you're a bit nervous lately. Jumpy. Keeping to yourself." _

_The blond sighed and took solace in the sturdy wall behind him. "Karina's started calling him 'Daddy' and Altair loves him so much. Everyone loves him. He's perfect, and I suppose I'm worried the prat deserves better than me." _

"_That's silly," Hermione assured and resumed the attention to her stomach. "He loves you more than anything." _

"_I know that. I just, well, you know, surely you can understand. If you thought Ron was better off with someone else, wouldn't you consider the possibility? If he could be better, happier?" _

_The witch smiled sadly and shook her head. "I wouldn't give him up for anyone else. We're not perfect, Draco. We make mistakes constantly. But, we need each other. We need the little things that not only make our love, but challenge it. And staying together proves just how important we are, just how much we've grown to rely on each other." _

"_How do you know it'll always be this way?" Draco asked quietly, terrified his thoughts had wandered this far. "How do you know it'll always be enough?" _

_Hermione's smile changed, then. It was so certain and pure from doubt. "Trust, Draco." _

Of course he trusted Harry. He didn't, however, trust himself. Didn't trust his bravery. Wouldn't trust his ability to accept Harry's love over and over again. Draco loved the man with everything he had, but he'd never allow himself to suffer the shock and mind numbing damage brought on by the disappearance of Harry's love and support.

He couldn't imagine, now, a life without Harry. And that was such a dangerous, vulnerable state to exist in. People were such fickle creatures. Constantly changing and evolving. Needing more or needing less. Needing something else entirely.

Though, needing more than Harry seemed impossible. He'd always been the exception.

_Always._

Shaking his head of the traitorous thoughts, Draco examined the mess made in his kitchen and rolled his eyes at Harry's knowledge of his late return. Late enough to almost have dinner prepared and table set. The wizard must have had a sense for these things.

Music still traveled through from the floor above him and he wondered when Harry found the time to put together the record machine he'd been teasing the blond about since Christmas. The Muggle contraption was terribly difficult to find, but Draco persevered and located the exact player Harry remembered a cousin owning when he was a child.

_The sound is incredible, Draco. And not all Muggle music is terrible. I'll prove it. _

And if this particular sound was coming from said machine, then Draco would have to agree. The sound was wonderful, almost a live performance.

_Auld Lang Syne… That's it!_

Draco smiled smugly to himself and took the stairs two at a time, hoping to surprise Harry before he realized his company. He peered stealthily into their bedroom in vain as his fiancé was nowhere to be found and the player in pieces scattered across the floor.

The song still played, though. And the sound seemed to be coming from the study where Karina's piano should have been sitting idly as its pianist was currently entertaining a three-year-old with hair as bright as her father's.

He carefully inched his way towards the study and pressed his ear to the door. Suddenly, singing accompanied the piano and Draco could feel the edges of his mouth turn upwards in recognition of Harry's voice.

The Chosen One didn't sing regularly, nor did he play piano as far as Draco's knowledge traveled. The piano had been bought at Karina's request, and the witch developed her talent quickly and passionately. She really was a remarkable child.

Draco thanked his Auror training for a quiet entry and paced on the tips of his toes towards the left of Harry and taking a seat atop the piano's bench. A startled yelp and sharp note had Draco chuckling deeply and latching onto his fiancé's opposite hip to catch his probable fall.

"Draco!" Harry breathed in a rush, and leaned into his oppressor for comfort. "I made dinner."

"When did you learn to play?" the blond asked and plucked a few keys remembered from his own, nearly forgotten, lessons. "Seems I've lost it."

"Karina's been teaching me on her breaks. I'm not exactly Mozart yet."

Draco nudged him playfully and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Nonsense. Don't let me interrupt, though."

Harry flushed scarlet and shook his head. "No need to suffer on my account."

"Please?" the Auror offered knowingly with a pout. The Savior wasn't weak by any stretch of the imagination, but for now, with Draco, he was easily manipulated.

The former Slytherin may not have been blessed with the ability to do wandless magic and alter his lover's mood without the slightest effort, but he was cunning- a right fit for his House. He'd memorized every reaction to his actions and used them accordingly.

"That's not fair," Harry whined and situated his hands above the keys. "You could get away with murder."

"How do you know I haven't?"

Instead of answering, Harry began to play again and eventually braved the lyrics as well. Draco sat in awe beside him, closing his eyes, and allowing himself to drown.

The former Gryffindor's voice was so warm and threatened to break the hearts of any fortunate enough to listen. He didn't demand attention or ask. Harry had, and would always have, a presence about him. A presence that couldn't be ignored by any fault of his own.

It was impossible not to love Harry.

"Was it _that _terrible?"

"Hm?" Draco mumbled unintelligibly.

"You're crying," he observed as a thumb went to brush away the dampness he only now decided existed against his cheek.

"I hadn't realized," Draco said softly, hoping to preserve this moment. "It was beautiful, Harry."

Bright, viridian eyes stared back at him in disbelief. This face, however morbid he thinks it sounds, comforts him. The terror in his eyes, the way his lip trembles, his furrowing eyebrows…

This uncertainty kept Draco from feeling so alone. Almost convinced him that feeling vulnerable wasn't shameful, and it wouldn't kill you if someone was around to pick up the pieces.

* * *

><p>Harry sat in his favorite position, the corner of the loveseat with Draco's head nestled into his lap. A warm cup of tea cooled on the table beside him as his fiancé read aloud from this week's tabloids. Each year, the after Christmas scandals seemed to increase tenfold, and this year was no exception.<p>

"I don't think Charlie has ever been in the news more. He hasn't honestly mated with one of those monsters, has he?"

The Chosen One snorted and raked his fingers through Draco's hair. "I don't believe so, no. Dragons aren't really his type."

"Huh," he hummed and began reading again- this time to himself only. "Do you like dragons?"

"Some of them."

Draco looked up with the makings of a snarl twitching the corner of his nose. "_Some?_"

"Just the one, really. A right twat, but he's got a lovely arse."

"Tread carefully, Boy Wonder. I refuse to let your flattery distract me from insult."

Harry chuckled. "Who says I was talking about _you_?"

The blond opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to choose otherwise with a nod and removed himself from Harry's lap. "I'll make tea."

"Draco, I already have a cup," Harry said uneasily as Draco refused to hear him and trudged towards the kitchen. The Chosen One sighed heavily in bewilderment.

_What's wrong now?_

He followed eventually, giving his fiancé space to recover. It hadn't been enough time, apparently, as Draco was found bracing himself against the countertop with white knuckles and a seriously deep line to his brow. No tea in sight.

Harry settled behind him, chest to back, hands over gripped fists, and kissed a bit of revealed skin at Draco's neck.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Draco shrugged, but his grip did loosen. "I'm not thinking of anything." Harry wrapped both sets of arms around Draco's waist and the Auror leaned into the embrace. "I was just talking to Hermione today. She said you were worried about me. Thought I was having some doubts."

Harry stiffened and waited for the blow. "Are you?" he gulped.

"Not for the reasons you're worried about. I don't want you to make a mistake."

"Hey," Harry whispered and rotated the man in his arms to face him. Draco's eyes were cast away from his own, his jaw set in protest. "Look at me, yeah?"

_Oh, he's shaking. _

Finally, disturbed grey met concerned green and Harry held on tighter, pulled closer, and rested his forehead against the blond's.

"You're not a mistake, Draco. And if I ever made you feel like you weren't enough, I'm sorry. I love you. I won't stop loving you."

"How do you know that?"

This face, this broken, beaten expression flashing a moment before an unwelcomed, hardened mask. Couldn't he _see_? Didn't he _know_?

Harry hadn't a home before Draco. Things simply were and there wasn't hope and the whole matter was a depressing one, so he avoided the thought entirely if possible. Especially after considering he had no intentions on being without Draco.

It wasn't an option.

"Because I can't survive without you."

"Even if I'm a right twat?" Harry rolled his eyes and smiled softly before kissing the tip of Draco's nose.

"You're exactly what I need."

Fireworks sounded outside as the clock began to strike. In his distraction, Harry hardly noticed a pair of lips parting his own well into the New Year. He smiled into the kiss and cradled Draco's face to slow the pace and assure both he and his future spouse that they weren't going anywhere. Would _never _be going anywhere.

"You're not so bad yourself, Potter," Draco drawled playfully. "We'll be okay, won't we?"

Removing his hands and taking the blond's left hand in his, Harry kissed the ring that sealed their promise.

"We'll be perfect. Happy New Year, Draco."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>:

_Happy New Year's! _

_I love doubt followed by cute. _

_My next addition will probably be their wedding/wedding night. I'm thinking a spring wedding. _

_Thanks for reading. _


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